


The Surrogate

by WelshCakes68



Series: The Surrogate [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Armed Forces, Artificial Insemination, Discussion of Abortion, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Married Characters, Married Couple, Married Life, Married Sex, Mentioned Previous Domestic Abuse, Modern Era, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Siblings, Sister-Sister Relationship, Surrogacy, Suspicions, Swearing, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 100,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelshCakes68/pseuds/WelshCakes68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being married for two years, Sansa and Margaery have finally found a surrogate to help make all of their baby dreams become a reality. At around the same time, the youngest Stark daughter returns from her travels overseas a changed person but just how much so?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's happening! It's finally happening!
> 
> In typical 'Me' fashion, I said this would be up by the end of January which, it is, but even though not completely last-minute is still pretty last-minute. Sorry! I wanted to have hit a point before I started posting but I have a ridiculous amount of this already written so I concede that I needed to start posting at some time.
> 
> So now, finally, you can see what everything else has been a prequel for! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> *WC68*

“So, I’m confused. What exactly is happening?” Merry asked, her brow scrunched in confusion. “This surrogate woman is going to have a babe with one of the boys and give it to the two of you?” Merry asked without finesse but Margaery just laughed at Merry’s usual lack of tact while she bounced Alyce’s new-born, Lanna, in her arms.

“No Merry,” Alla threw in giving her empty glass to a passing waiter with a smile. “The surrogate, Shae,” Alla paused, looking to Margaery for confirmation on the name of the woman they’d just met that evening before continuing, “will carry the babe for them but the eggs are Sansa’s and Margaery’s, yes?” Her cousin put to her.

“Yes.” Margaery confirmed with a fond smile.

“So, how does that work?” Megga asked with a look of rabid curiosity on her face.

“Basically, it’s called ‘Gestational Surrogacy’ where both the egg and the sperm are taken from the donors, mixed together to make a fertilised embryo and then implanted into the surrogate, so genetically, the surrogate doesn’t share any genetics with the foetus.”

Her friends all gawked at her somewhat when she concluded her jargon-heavy explanation and Margaery felt a small, discreet flush rise up to her cheeks.

“I think you’ve been living with a teacher for too long.” Alyce joked, while nibbling away at a fruit salad.

“You’re not far off.” Margaery started with faux desperation. “Sansa knows all of this stuff. She’s fascinated by the biology of the whole thing. She’d probably do a presentation for everyone in the room right now on ‘Oocyte Retrieval’ or ‘DNA Fragmentation’ if you gave her a projector and some PowerPoint slides.”

“Well, let’s just hope that any little ones you may have get _her_ brains then.” Elinor snarked with a cheeky smirk at Margaery.

“But, like,” Merry hesitated, dragging them back to the discussion at hand, looking around their group and then out towards the rest of the minglers in the dining hall before leaning in to whisper, “what if the boys’…stuff…mixes with your eggs instead of Sansa’s?”

Elinor let out a snort of laughter, knowing that ‘the boys’ meant Willas, Garlan and Loras so gave Merry a pitying look. “It doesn’t work like that, Merry.”

“Then how does it work?” Merry pressed, with genuine concern flashing in her eyes.

Margaery jumped in to explain before Elinor was tempted to take the piss out of the confused blonde. “My eggs will be mixed with Sansa’s brothers’…sperm,” Margaery paused, looking down at little Lanna who was yawning widely, still a bit uncomfortable with using the clinical terms as Sansa did, especially near newborn ears, “and Sansa’s will be mixed with Willas’, Garlan’s and Loras’ in separate, kind of, pietry dish type things, making an embryo and then Shae will be implanted with the embryos. No cross-contamination of sibling sex stuff, I promise.”

“Good.” Merry let out a relieved sigh, holding a dramatic hand to her chest and Margaery couldn’t help but smile at her genuine concern.

“I heard most people have to do IVF a few times before they get pregnant, is that right?” Alla said gently.

“Traditionally: yes. It’s not unheard of but it will probably take a few attempts before one of the little beauties in a cycle will take.” Margaery answered, taking a large goblet of arbour gold from the waiter with a grateful “Thank you.”

“One of them? Is it not just one embryo per cycle?” Alla asked, keeping a shrewd eye on her new boyfriend Tallad speaking to her brother Lucas and Elinor’s brother Luthor, two tables over.

Margaery had been savouring the mouthful of the rich wine that was not as readily available, now that she lived in the North, but swallowed quickly to answer. “Ummm…you can but the odds are not particularly in your favour if you do.”

“So how many will you use per cycle then?” Alyce asked.

“Four.”

“Four!” Elinor exclaimed while Megga choked on a clump of chocolate. “You could end up having four babies?!”

“Highly, highly improbable, if not impossible. The fact is that…our eggs were not particularly…stable I suppose is the word. Not a ‘high quality’ product so to speak.” Margaery mocked, trying to keep her face neutral. “Considering the odds, four will probably be quite conservative of us but we don’t want to compromise the surrogate’s…well, now Shae’s, safety so we’ve planned four.” Baby Lanna began to fuss in Margaery’s arms despite her soothing, cooing noises but Alyce’s husband Hugh was quick to arrive and take her from Margaery, her little face lighting up like the sun when she saw him. “Sorry Hugh.” Margaery apologised guiltily.

“No problem, Margaery. I got her.” He stated, walking around the table, pressing a quick kiss to Alyce’s cheek as he passed her and was rewarded with a smile identical to Lanna’s.

“So, technically, your eggs will kind of have more options than Sansa’s do because your eggs have their pick of four different brands of sperm.” Megga put in, idly popping chocolate swirls into her mouth, making Margaery laugh at her phrasing.

“No.” Margaery answered, “Three and three each.”

“I thought Sansa had four brothers?” Elinor questioned, confused.

“Yeah, she does but, her brother Jon, we didn’t ask him to donate.” Margaery clarified, smoothing a hand over the table cloth awkwardly.

“Why? Because he’s only her half-brother.” Alyce asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No!” Margaery jumped in, defensive on Sansa’s behalf, knowing how much people’s perception of Jon bothered the Starks. She looked across the room to Sansa who was standing and speaking to Shae, Alysanne, Renly and Leonette whilst holding their nephew, Garrett, in her arms. “It wasn’t like that. Sansa loves Jon as much as she does Robb, Bran or Rickon but we decided early on, even before the boys said they’d be willing to help us, that we didn’t want to know who was biologically going to be the mother of any babe we had. The fact is Jon _did_ have a different mother than Sansa and her siblings and she had purple eyes and jet black hair so if we had a babe with either of those features then we would have instantly known that Jon and I were the donors.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that.” Alyce put in awkwardly, her face turning red, the discomfort and sincerity clear on her face.

Margaery took a deep breath to calm herself before speaking. “I know Alyce.” She reached a hand across the table and grabbed Alyce’s with her own, feeling a bit bad for barking at her. “Sorry if that came out snappy or anything. It’s just, Sansa and the others gets really offended if people think that they love Jon any less because he’s not a ‘full-brother’. Bit of a sore spot for them and I suppose I’ve kind of adopted it too. Bloody Starks!” Margaery finished on a huff with a laugh.

“It’s fine.” Alyce smiled reassuringly. “I suppose it would be a bit more difficult for him too if that happened; to take a step back if you _knew_.”

“Exactly. It didn’t really seem fair to anyone involved. He never took it the wrong way though. He was great about the whole thing actually. He’s such a sweetheart.” Margaery enthused, fondness for her Good-Brother swelling in her chest.

“Her eldest brother is the only one of her siblings that’s married isn’t he? Robb?” Elinor asked.

“Yeah, to Myrcella Baratheon.” Margaery answered with a firm nod then laughed at the dubious looks they all sent her. “Don’t judge. She’s nothing like that prick brother of hers. She can have an…edge sometimes,” Margaery put in carefully, “but she’s a good girl.” The thought of Joffrey alone was making heat creep up her neck in a familiar dull rage so was hoping someone would steer the conversation away quickly.

“How does she feel about Robb…contributing. And Leonette actually. I have been curious as to what they think.” Elinor put in with an inquisitive look on her face.

“I can’t really speak for Robb and Cella because I don’t know about any conversations that they’ve had behind closed doors but with Garlan and Leonette, I don’t think he actually _asked_ her, per se. You know what Garlan is like; so gallant, family first. I think that’s a big part of why she loves him so much so I don’t think she really had a problem with it.” Margaery replied with a cavalier shrug.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve finally found someone to be a surrogate for you. It’s been a long wait and I can’t think of a more deserving couple than you and Sansa.” Alla stated quietly and sincerely, gripping Margaery’s hand tightly and smiling sweetly at her.

Margaery met her cousin’s eyes and felt her throat close slightly with emotion. “That’s an understatement. Nearly two years! It’s about time.”

“Aunt Margaery!” An excited, shrill voice boomed out before she felt a heavy weight push into her side.

“Who is this strange person?” Margaery asked to the table at large, ham acting at confusion.

“It’s me, Aunt Margaery, it’s Garrett.” The little boy pleaded, brown ringlets curling into his eyes adorably.

“No,” Margaery started patiently “you see because my lovely, most favouritest-nephew-ever Garrett, he is but a boy and you lad, well, you are near a man grown.”

“But it is me, Aunt Margaery, see?” He implored, grabbing Margaery’s hands and lifting them to his head, forcing her fingers to curl slightly in his hair like she’s done since he was a babe.

Margaery melted and started pulling her fingers through his curls as was her habit. “Ah yes, it is you.” She wrapped her arms around him tight and pulled his small frame towards her, bringing him into her lap. “How are you, Nephew?”

“Well. It has been too long since I saw you last.” He accused with a solemn, accusatory voice and looking entirely too adorable, pouting in his little slacks and shirt with a green and gold dickie-bow.

“My apologies, Little Love, but the North is very far away.” Margaery implored.

“I wished you lived here.” Garrett cajouled, with his mother’s bright eyes shining up at her.

“I know.” She intoned sadly. His eyes were a darker blue than Sansa’s but he looked so like a Tyrell that if she squinted, he could be a child that her and Sansa could have together and that made her heart ache slightly.

“There you are.” The love of her life’s voice called out and when she looked up she saw that Sansa was standing in her baby blue dress, hands on hips, looking at her now squirming nephew. “I thought we were going to go get iced cream and here I find you, abandoned me for a pretty face.” Sansa stated with a disappointed shake of the head.

“I’m sorry Aunty Sansa but I haven’t seen Aunt Margaery in so long. I had to see her.” Garrett said so earnestly, using his big doe eyes to his advantage and she could see Sansa’s façade crack slightly.

“Well, okay then. I suppose I can’t argue with that.” Sansa relented quickly, shaking her auburn, northern styled braid out with a look of acquiescence.

“Though I must say, the boy clearly has no taste if he was dumping you for me.” Margaery enthused with a solicitous smirk over the top of her nephews head, enjoying Sansa imperceptible flush. “Where’s Shae?”

“Oh, she’s…working the room, I suppose. She was talking to a friend of Will’s when I left her.” Sansa offered, smiling at the two of them widely.

“Oh, okay then. Well, have a seat.” Sansa nodded and started to look around for a spare chair on the surrounding tables, unknowingly taking the bait, before Margaery stood up and said, “Here, take this one.”

“But then you two have nowhere to sit.” Sansa argued lightly, face suspicious, well aversed to her wife’s games but still uncertain.

“Well, let’s test that theory.” She stated, clasping Sansa’s wrist and twirling her around before pushing her lightly back down into the seat. “And now we simply…” Margaery started, holding Garrett tightly in both arms before turning around and plopping herself onto Sansa’s lap. “There we are. See Garrett, Tyrell’s; we are problem solvers. Understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Margaery.” Garrett answered diligently.

“Good boy.” Margaery smiled at her nephew as Sansa hand began to mindlessly stroke over her hip.

Alysanne wandered over to the table and was immediately dragged by Alla to save Tallad from the Tyrell Inquisition while Alyce wandered away, hand in hand with her son Tion, to deliver the cake that he had requested. Despite the newly liberated seats, Sansa made no move to claim one which was just fine with Margaery.

Garret was taking a much needed breath in updating them on how his first year in Primary School was going when she felt Sansa’s voice rumble against her back which was pressed tightly to the redhead’s chest. "Ah, there's the Name Day Boy!"

It was then that she noticed her eldest brother Willas making his way slowly towards them, leaning on his cane and hobbling through the partygoers with a beaming smile in place, teeth gleaming white through his dark beard. "Ladies. Ser Garrett." He said with a serious nod at Garrett, no doubt fuelling his new obsession with knights and all things medieval.

"Uncle Willas!" Garrett yelled, standing on Margaery's thighs and launching himself at Willas which was only somewhat excruciating for Margaery and causing only a minor loss of equilibrium for Willas.

"Young Ser, these ladies libations are looking very light." Willas stated as Margaery and Sansa stood up.

"Li...lib..." Garrett attempted, face scrunched up adorably.

"Ay good Ser, libations and I do find myself so thirsty." Sansa jumped in and held up her empty tumbler, shaking it at him slightly as a hint.

"A drink?" Garrett guessed excitedly and beamed at the confirming nods from the adults.

"Yes my liege, for a truly chivalrous knight, such as yourself, would offer your services for the fair maidens in these circumstances." Willas put in with a smile at said maidens.

Garrett took a moment, face scrunched in serious concentration as he tried to figure out what his uncle was requesting, as if it were a puzzle, before his little face melted into a smile. "My ladies, might we get you some more li...lib...drinks?" He said proudly with a slight bow, still being held in Willas' strong arms.

"Thank you good Ser." Margaery started with a small curtsey. "I will take a goblet of the arbour gold and the ravishing maiden to my right will have a pear brandy." Margaery concluded, gesturing to Sansa while she smiled at Garrett enthusiastically who accepted their empty containers with equal enthusiasm and began fidgeting to signal to Willas that he wished to be let down. Willas had barely let him out of his grasp before Garrett was off, running across the crowded room towards the servers.

"Wait, Garrett!" Willas called, breaking character. "They won't serve you without...eurgh" he huffed, conceding that their little nephew was long gone. He turned toward his youngest sibling with a raised eyebrow. "‘Ravishing maiden’? You know, she's already married to you. You don't need to butter her up _quite_ so thoroughly."

Margaery responded by wrapping her right arm behind Sansa's back and around her waist, cuddling into her side slightly. “No, no, Brother. Flirtation and flattery are vital to keeping the romance in bloom.” Margaery declared, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Sansa’s jaw.

Sansa brought her arms up and around Margaery's shoulders, pulling her in close with an assenting nod towards Willas. "T'is true, My Lord."

"Then it appears _that_ is where I've been going wrong all this time." Willas declared sincerely but with a self-deprecating sneer.

Margaery felt a bubble of pity form for her brother. She might be oh-so-slightly biased, since he was her brother and all, but brother or no, Willas was a great man; smart, kind, funny and generous and it broke her heart a little that he didn't have someone like her, Loras and Garlan did. Instead, she retorted back with, "You're too bloody picky! That's your problem!"

He smiled sadly. "What can I say?" He shrugged with little enthusiasm. Margaery was about to put a comforting hand on his arm when his eyes seemed to get some of their normal glow back. "I had the perfect woman once, but she preferred my sister." He finished, throwing his hair back dramatically and eying Sansa for her reaction.

Margaery let out a laugh while Sansa flushed and tried to fake nonchalant by helping herself to some fruit from Margaery's abandoned plate, not taking Willas’ bait.

"Ahhhh." Margaery drew out, throwing a teasing look at Sansa who steadfastly refused to look at either Tyrell and get drawn into their joke. "It is understandable, Willas. I would give up on finding anyone better if she were to ever leave me, too." Margaery threw a glance and Sansa. _'Nothing. She just needs a bit more of a nudge to crack based on the lovely shade of scarlet blooming at the tips of her ears.'_ "Especially when you were so callously cast aside-"

"Oh, shut up the both of you!" Sansa snapped and both Tyrells snickered victoriously.

Margaery had known Sansa for about a year when she made the decision that Sansa and Willas would make an adorable couple and set out to make them see the same thing for themselves. She had given both of them the others mobile number, conned Willas into visiting King’s Landing more often and dragged Sansa down to Highgarden with her a few times but, alas, it was to no avail. Sansa and Willas had only nice things to say about each other and got on perfectly well. In fact, Willas was probably the Tyrell brother Sansa got along with the most but there was a consensus on a lack of spark between the two of them that put the notion to rest in Margaery's head, finally. This, in retrospect, was a blessing because it was about a year after that that she had started to see her friend in a ‘spark’ sort of way herself.

"I thought it would offer you some sort of comfort Will, that I ended up with a near identical version of yourself, just with boobs...and less facial hair." Sansa added with a cheeky smirk, giving Willas' beard a fond scratch.

"Oddly enough, it doesn't." Willas deadpanned but with a beaming smile on his face.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Margaery cut in, waving her hand emphatically between her brother and wife. "What do you mean 'with less facial hair'?"

Sansa just looked at her for a long moment, blinking serenely before conceding with an angelically innocent yet confused expression on her face. " _Significantly_ less facial hair?" Sansa reworded. At Margaery's open mouthed gape, Sansa's facade cracked slightly with a small smile before she brought her hand up to scratch Margaery's cheek and jaw, much in the same way she had to Willas, making him guffaw loudly and Margaery pout spectacularly. Margaery threw Sansa’s hand away with an unamused expression and a laugh bubbled from Sansa's mouth before she could transform her face into a halfway decent attempt at contrite. "Oh, come on. I was only joking." Sansa started, curling an arm around Margaery's neck, pulling her in close to whisper huskily in her ear, "I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me." Sansa started to trace the skin of her ear and neck with the tip of her nose and Margaery's eyes closed of their own accord.

 _'Such a manipulation. A nice one though.'_ Margaery thought.

"Well, I'll leave you two to your..." Willas hesitated, seemingly trying to find an appropriate word before giving up and hobbling off in the direction Garrett was last seen.

“Happy Name Day, Willas.” Margaery mumbled without opening her eyes or moving her head, not certain that he had heard her but not feeling particularly inclined to check either.

“Yes…Name Day.” Sansa breathed distractedly into Margaery’s neck.

Margaery tried to half-heartedly pull away, not wanting to be quite so obviously whipped but Sansa snared her wrists and pulled Margaery's arms around the taller girl’s waist. "You’re not pouting with me are you? Hmmmmm?"

 _'Oh gods? When did I become so easy to manipulate?'_ Margaery asked herself, dismayed.

“You are…ahhh…” Margaery groaned as Sansa pulled the skin of her neck slightly with her teeth, “grudgingly forgiven.”

“Hmmmm. Such a beautiful and gracious wife I have.” Sansa replied and Margaery could feel the smirk pressing into her neck.

“It has been said before and will undoubtedly be said again.” Margaery replied and snuggled deeper into Sansa embrace, burying her face into its spot between Sansa’s neck and shoulder before blowing out a contented breath.

Sansa held her tighter and they just stood there for a minute or two, swaying slightly and savouring the moment. “Marge?”

“Hmmmm?” Margaery hummed happily in invitation.

“We’re going to have a baby.” Sansa stated plainly and slightly in awe.

Margaery released a deep breath, the thought only slightly terrifying her, before replying. “I know.”

“I can’t wait.” Sansa enthused eagerly.

Margaery felt a grudging smile hike up her lip. “Me neither.”

*~*~*

The party was about halfway through and Margaery and Sansa were standing on the side of the dance floor, watching with amusement those 'dancing', the arbour gold making them forget that they lacked the rhythm to do so. Margaery had her arm looped loosely around Sansa's waist, listening to Megga explain the differences her recent promotion brought to her job when she jumped at Sansa's shrill, shriek right next to her ear, deafening her. Sansa pulled away from her suddenly and started bounding across the dance floor to the entrance like an excited child, running towards that shiny new Name Day bike that they'd asked for.

_'What the...'_

Sansa appeared to be running toward some small brunette whom Margaery could not make out very well and whom she could make out even less when her wife threw herself bodily at said brunette, arms going around her neck and her legs around her hips. There was a second of flickering rage mingled with confusion that resulted in a burning jealousy that was doused almost as quickly as it formed by the brunette choking out loudly, "Fuck me, Sans! Chill your tits!"

Margaery let out a sputtering laugh before walking over,now knowing who the brunette was, finding added humour in the situation due to everyone’s slightly scandalised looks. "Oh, piss off you tosser and don't ruin then moment." Sansa stated, quieter than her sister had, still squeezing tightly as she was spun around, making her laugh happily. _'Oh yeah, 100%.'_

Margaery made it to the pair as her wife returned her feet to the ground, still with a vice-like grip on the brunette and stated "What are you doing here, Ar?"

After a moment they finally released each other and Sansa stepped back to behold her sister. Margaery noted how different Arya looked but still the same somehow. The younger Stark had let her hair grow long for one and it was sitting in a messy braid over her left shoulder, similar to Sansa’s but far more chaotic. Her normally porcelain skin had bronzed slightly and was darkened even more by a numerous collections of dark freckles on her shoulders, arms, nose and cheeks. She looked like she had literally just stepped off of the plane, still wearing airy and loose clothing that revealed far more skin than she thought she’d ever seen on her Good-Sister before. "Well, I was just sitting in this little bistro in Tyrosh, eating some Spiced Boar, and I just decided it was time to come home." Arya shrugged as if such decisions were normally made idly and at the drop of a hat.

"But what are you doing here, in Highgarden?" Margaery put in. "Not that we're not thrilled to see you of course." She added, folding Arya into an admittedly less enthusiastic but no less happy hug of her own.

"I got the group invite with the rest of the Starks so guessed you'd be here. The next flight direct to Winterfell wasn't for four days so I thought I'd get home via Highgarden and surprise you both. Are you surprised?"

"Yeah!" Sansa enthused, hugging her tightly again and Margaery could just about see the fondness through the faux-put out expression on Arya’s face where it peeked over Sansa’s shoulder. “Especially since,” She paused, sending a beaming smile towards Margaery who gave her own in return, “we have some news.” Arya just stood waiting patiently, never one to press for information. “We found a surrogate.”

Arya’s eyes bugged out of her head and her breath came out in a whoosh. “Mother Rhoyne!” Arya burst out. _‘Is that a good thing or a bad thing?’_ Margaery questioned herself, unsure. Sansa seemed unfamiliar with the phrase also and uncertain as to its meaning so Arya guffawed loudly and pulled them both into crushing hugs that belied her small frame. “That’s awesome!”

They both hugged her back with a chuckle as Sansa caused a tremor to go through the other two by bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Oh great! Sister’s cleavage jiggling in my face. I’ll maybe only need one year of therapy to wipe it from my mind.” Arya drawled sarcastically, contrasted beautifully by her wide smile as the three pulled away from each other.

“I’m quite fond of your sister’s cleavage jiggling in _my_ face.” Margaery retorted before she could stop herself. _‘That’s enough Arbour Gold, Margaery. You’re clearly out of practice with it.’_

Arya guffawed at Margaery’s over-share and Sansa gave her an accusing but embarrassed stare.

There was silence for a long moment, bar Arya’s laughs, Sansa staring intently at Margaery, trying to catch her eye so she could properly give her the signature, cold Stark-Stare whilst Margaery gazed dead ahead at Arya, face frozen in her previous, slightly surprised expression, avoiding said stare at all costs.

Arya smiled at the both of them widely, gorging herself on their discomfort before granting mercy. “So, who is she? What’s her name? Where’d you find her? Why didn’t Mother tell me?” She fired off quickly.

Sansa finally broke her staring contest with Margaery’s cheek and turned her attention back to her sister. “Well, her name’s Shae, she’s from Norvos and we found her…ahh…” Sansa started then hesitated, clearly not wanting to say ‘online’ and admit that to anyone. “And Mother doesn’t know yet. No one from home does actually. We flipped a coin and Tyrell’s won being told first. We didn’t want to do it over the phone so we told everyone here tonight and we’re telling our lot tomorrow at Jon’s ‘Welcome Home Party’. You are coming to that right?”

“Of course. I thought I’d just go back with you.” Arya replied.

“I hope Jon doesn’t feel we’d be stealing his thunder by doing it at his party but we _really_ don’t want to do something like that over the phone and everyone will be there.” Sansa started, wringing her hands.

“Pffft.” Arya let out with a smile. “This is Jon we’re talking about, Sans. The most chilled out bloke ever except for maybe Bran. He’s not going to give a shit about his thunder. This party is for Mother anyway, not Jon. Besides,” Arya started with a knowing smirk, “he’s got some news of his own so maybe you won’t be taking as much of his thunder as you’d think.”

At that, Sansa’s eyebrows shot up, clearly curious and maybe just a little miffed at being out of the loop on family business. “And how would you be privy to such information?”

“Well, he has been on my side of the Narrow Sea for the past year. We’ve met up a couple of times.” Arya sent a self-satisfied smile at her sister. “Gods, it is really killing you right now that I know something that you don’t, isn’t it?” Arya asked, surprised but not really.

Sansa attempted to huff in disinterest but didn’t manage to pull it off at all. “It isn’t at all, actually. I can wait until tomorrow.”

“Mmmmm.” Arya agreed, clearly dubious.

“Shae!” Margaery shouted at Shae who was walking past them, arm-in-arm with Garlan’s Polo teammate, Garth. “Come meet Sansa’s sister.”

Shae’s face seemed to darken for a split second before it lit up in her usual charming smile, turning to say something to Garth who in turn bloomed scarlet, before she made her way over to them. The interaction didn’t even last five seconds but it made an uncomfortable tingle creep up the back of Margaery’s neck but she did her best not to overthink it.

“Shae, is it? Nice to meet you.” Arya asked, sticking out her hand for Shae to shake, casting an assessing eye over the girl.

Shae held her hand out daintily, putting only her fingers into Arya’s outstretch hand. **“Rysta.”**

Arya did not look particularly impressed and eyed up the shorter girl for a long moment before nodding. **“Bezy eza ji rigle.”**

 **“Ydra ji Valyre?”** Shae questioned, looking surprised.

 **“Kiz. Nagostova.”** Arya replied, bring her hand up and holding her fingers apart slightly.

“Ummm…hello?” Margaery put in, flabbergasted.

“I didn’t think you’d take to languages so well on your travels, Arya.” Sansa put in, clearly impressed.

“I only picked up conversational Valyrian. That’s probably about as much as I have to be honest.” Arya put in with a cavalier shrug of her shoulder.

“Still probably more than Jon picked up out there.” Sansa put in with a smile. “Shall I get us some drinks?” Sansa asked to the group at large.

Before anyone else could answer, Shae quickly put in, “Thank-you Sansa but I believe that man there has the privilege of getting me my next beverage. **Gusela**.” Shae waved her hand dismissively as she made a bee-line for one of Renly’s clients, who had gorgeous green eyes and hulking, broad shoulders.

Sansa gave a shaky nod and tried not to show that she was affected by the rude dismissal, sending a queasy smile towards Arya and Margaery. Margaery could see the hard look in her Good-Sister’s features that was likely reflected in her own before they schooled their faces back to neutrality before Sansa turned back to them but she could see that, despite Arya’s neutral expression, her steel-grey eyes followed Shae as she left, eying her up like a predator.

*~*~*

Olenna Tyrell let out a relieved breath at having a moment’s peace to herself after having just dismissed the last set of blithering idiots to approach her. She used the available moment to survey the room, as was her habit.

She noted Willas and Alerie talking quietly over by the bar, smiling the same smile at each other, Loras and Renly Baratheon having a seemingly intense debate with Leonette while Garlan was striding confidently around the room, greeting people with jovial handshakes, holding her only great grandchild in one arm, whom seemed ecstatic at the method of travel.

 _‘Only one great grandchild for the moment.’_ Olenna thought idly with a fond internal smile before it turned slightly sour as her eyes sought out the reason for her displeasure, seeing Shae cuddled up in the corner with Orton Merryweather of all people. _‘This won’t do at all.’_

She had noticed that there was at least one other person who did not seem so impressed with the vessel for the next Tyrell...at least, one other that didn't seem inclined _not_ to act on it anyway.

She swivelled her hawk like eyes to the group of girls that included said person. The group clearly didn't think anyone else could hear them; her distance and the fact that she was only observing them from her periphery vision had clearly lulled them into a false sense of security.

 _‘I’ve still clearly got more to teach that girl.’_ Olenna thought offhandedly, considering Margaery in the group.

“Still straight then?” Meredyth asked Arya dubiously, eyes wide with hope.

“’Fraid so Merry.” Arya asked with a sombre nod of the head.

“Not even a little bit curious about what has us three hooked?” She asked, gesturing to herself, Margaery and Sansa.

“Mmmmm...can't say that I am at this stage in my life.” Arya shook her head, her braid swinging with the action.

“Are you sure? You hesitated.” Merry asked shrewdly.

This time Arya cracked a smile. “I'm sure but I'll keep you in mind should that ever change, Merry.”

Meredyth beamed at the consolation. “Awesome.”

“Merry, you’re being horribly obvious.” Her Granddaughter put in, chastisingly.

“Oh, mop off the drool for your own Stark Girl before you criticise me...hypocrite.” Merry argued drily.

Margaery opened her mouth to retort but then seemingly decided there was nothing to be said to that, instead bringing her arm up to rub circles on Sansa's back, as if conceding the point. The conversation carried on though it seemed to Olenna that Margaery was more focused on the track her hand was making, lower and lower until her granddaughter was blatantly caressing her wife's behind, making Sansa fidget and attempt to subtly slap her hand away without drawing attention to it. Margaery must have felt the heat of the glare Sansa was sending her way because she turned to her with an impressively believable innocent expression on her face. The facade cracked under several seconds of the continued look from her wife and her Grandaughter’s face morphed into its natural smirk.

The smirk, however, was erased when she cast an eye over her wife's shoulder and made eye contact with Olenna who had an unimpressed eyebrow raised. Margaery attempted to look contrite, a look she never mastered in its entirety, and cast her eyes down, her lips tugging up at the corners minutely.

“Wolf Girl!” Olenna called clearly. Both Sansa and Arya's heads swivelled towards her and she fought to keep the smile in. “Little Wolf Girl.”

Arya smiled wide, making her way towards Olenna with arms spread wide. “Grandma!”

Olenna didn't fight the eye roll at the girl’s antics but did crack a hidden smile as the tiny girl folded the even tinier woman into a big bear hug that would have made a Mormont proud.

She could see Sansa looking over at them in minor disapproval, an expression often seen on the faces of older siblings but Olenna just waved it off. "How were your travels, Girl? Did you come back any more cultured?"

Anyone else might consider such a barb personal but it seemed that no matter what Olenna threw at Arya Stark she never took offence…unless it was about family but they were on the same page about that.

“My Mother would hope so but I don’t feel it.” She replied without preamble.

“It seems that Margaery and Sansa’s new…friend is also from Essos.” Olenna broached, getting to the point quickly, knowing and respecting that the Stark Girl had patience for little else.

The jovial expression on the girls face died quickly at that. “Hmmmmm.”

“Problem?” Olenna edged, wanting to hear what the Northerner had to say.

“I think you know that there is.” Arya replied, meeting her gaze squarely.

“Mmmmmm.” Olenna agreed. She considered her chalice for a long while, swirling the contents. “I believe Margaery does too.” At that, Arya’s head quirked to the side, reminding her almost painfully of someone she’d known a long time ago. “She won’t admit it to anyone of course. Not even to herself.”

“Why not?” Arya asked curiously.

Olenna actually did smile at that, though it was sad. “Your sister; she’s reluctant to risk her happiness over a suspicion.”

“I think more than my sister’s happiness could be at risk if they trust that **tyvaro** with their babe.” Arya stated firmly, ice in her voice.

“So, what course of action would you suggest?”

A wolfish grin stole across her face at that. “Oh, something tells me you already have one in mind.”

Olenna conceded the point with a shrug and a small, coy smile. “I have been mulling it over as I’ve sat here, in between imbeciles approaching me, scrambling for my attention.”

“I hope you don’t count my fine self in that summary.” Arya replied with a mock wounded look. “So, you unsurprisingly have a plan but, surprisingly, are telling me about it.” Arya summarised, aiming an assessing look towards the older woman. “What do you need from me?” She asked, again, cutting straight to the point.

“It is rather fortuitous that you should have arrived this evening,” She swivelled her eyes to Shae who was now pressed up to Orton Merryweather like a cat in heat, “and that you should see what I see.” Olenna Tyrell had seen countless girls like this Shae over the years and she would wager the entire wealth of Highgarden that it was not the shocking shade of his hair, the bulbous shape of his nose nor the dishwater wits of Orton Merryweather that attracted the girl, and more the sizable wealth of Longtable. “And you’ll be returning to Winterfell with them.”

“She’s coming to Winterfell?” Arya repeated, her face finally giving way to a genuine expression of surprise.

“They have their spare bedroom set up for her.” Olenna commented dispassionately and watched the expression on Arya’s face darken further as she turned to get the girl in her sights as well. “I would feel better knowing that someone is keeping an eye on this girl. I shall speak to some contacts on my end and if there is any information you could pass along to me that would make their tasks easier, it would be greatly appreciated.”

Arya’s eyes were like ice, the look she was sending the girl was long and intense. The moment seemed to stretch indefinitely where all Olenna did was observe the younger girl and even _she_ felt a flicker of apprehension run up her spine. “Gladly”, was her cold reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Valyrian Translator (http://wiki.dothraki.org/Astapori_Valyrian_Vocabulary#G)_
> 
>  
> 
> _Rysta= Hello_  
>  Bezy eza ji rigle= This one has the honor  
> Ydra ji Valyre?= You speak Valyrian?  
> Kiz=Yes  
> Nagostova= Weak  
> Gusela= Goodbye  
> Tyvaro= Snake
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you're intrigued? As always, reads, kudos and comments are appreciated and just a quick thanks to everyone that has done any of these since May when I first posted here. I probably wouldn't have bothered posting this if the series hadn't have had such a great reception so thank you all.
> 
> *WC68*


	2. Chapter Two

“Oh please, _please_ , let me take a picture and send it to Merry.” Margaery pleaded, her hands clasped in front of her, begging.

Arya laughed but Sansa did not. “You shouldn’t encourage Merry like you do.” Sansa chastised her wife. “And neither should you!” She directed at Arya.

“Merry doesn’t need encouraging, Love.” Margaery put in with a placating tone. While Sansa’s back was turned, Margaery snapped the picture quickly as Arya struck a mock-sexy pose.

“Oh, don’t mind Sansa.” Arya started as Margaery sent the picture, sending a lecherous smirk towards her. “Her and Robb have always been the same. Even the barest whiff of ‘sex’ and ‘sibling’ in the same raven code and the protective wolf instincts flare out.”

Sansa rolled her eyes and sent Arya an unamused look which was met with Arya’s irritating smile. “Jon doesn’t like it either, so don’t just make out Robb and I to be the unreasonable ones. It’s just an older sibling thing.” Sansa justified.

“It _is_ just you and Robb who are the unreasonable ones and it’s _not_ just an older sibling thing. Jon doesn’t feel comfortable discussing sex across the board, no matter who it’s with so at least he’s sibling-blind about it. Plus, _I’m_ not like that with Bran or Rickon…I’m fully aware that Rick’ll put his dick in anything wearing a skirt that will stay still for long enough.” Arya argued back.

Arya was amused by Sansa’s visible recoil at talk of their baby brother in that context and could see that her sister was taking a big breath to start some sort of tirade when Margaery stepped up to wrap her arms around Sansa in an attempt to distract her…which worked.

Arya averted her eyes to the mirror while Margaery whispered something into her sister’s ear that made her flush. Arya assessed her reflection, running her fingers through her hair nervously before smoothing down her dress. _‘Dress. For Crone’s sake!’_

“So, like I said, you look great but has your style changed since you’ve been away or is this effort for a particular reason?” Margaery asked, coming up for breath from Sansa’s neck.

“I just thought I’d make the effort for Jon…and Mother. So she doesn’t kill me for showing up unannounced. She does hate surprises.” Arya reasoned.

“That’s why I think you’re brave for doing this.” Sansa put in, stepping up behind Arya to check her own reflection. “You know…or stupid. One or the other.” She teased, poking a finger into her ribs.

Arya shrugged her off with a smirk and started to fidget with the dress again. She had gotten used to showing more skin on her travels; it was a necessity after all so it wasn’t the fact that the dress revealed more of her legs, arms and chest than her family had probably seen of her since bath time when she was a babe that was making her fidget. She hadn’t seen all of the family together for nearly two years. She’d seen Jon a few times over the last year since he had been based in Astapor, her parents, Rickon and Bran had made a trip to Essos twice to see her, once four months after she left Westeros in Lorath and again seven months ago in Tolos to meet up with Jon too. She had changed so much since she had left Winterfell but she hoped it would feel the same to her. Her reunion with her sister had actually gone a lot better than what she thought it would. They’d Skype’d many a time since she’d been gone but Margaery and Sansa had been saving since they came back from the honeymoon for the surrogacy so they didn’t make an Essos trip like the rest. When Arya had left Westeros, she hadn’t been on the best of terms with her sister, Robb or their parents, a fact she was all too aware of on the ride from the airport to the Tyrell’s party but it had gone much smoother than she’d thought likely.

_‘Just Robb to go.’_ Arya thought dully. Robb didn’t get that much holiday time while he was trying to establish himself as a Solicitor and the time he did have off was mostly spent visiting Myrcella’s family meaning that he also had not visited.

“She’s right. You look great. Stop fidgeting and messing up your hair.” Sansa stated, pulling her hands away from the dress while looking at her fondly.

Arya’s eyes met Sansa’s in their reflection and they smiled at each other. “Do you have some bracelets I can borrow. There’s no point making an effort with the dress if I piss her off with the tattoos.”

“Hmmmmm.” Sansa drew out, her voice ripe with disapproval too.

“How many is that now Arya?” Margaery asked eying up the snarling direwolf on her left wrist and the leaping fish on her right.

“Two on the wrists, two on the shoulder blades, one on my thigh and another on my side.” Arya said, patting each area she indicated.

“That number seems to have increased significantly.” Sansa said sardonically.

“Yes it has.” Arya replied and left it at that.

“I have something that should work with what you’re wearing.” Margaery jumped in, pulling Arya by the wrist up the stairs to her and Sansa’s bedroom. As they passed the spare bedroom that Shae was currently occupying, she came out of the doorway wearing a scarlet, low cut dress that barely covered her arse and obscenely high heels to match. Though Margaery’s face gave nothing away, her grip on Arya’s wrist tightened to near painful. “Oh Shae. That dress is so…”

“I know.” Shae put in proudly before Margaery could finish, which is probably good since she doubted Margaery would have used a word as flattering as Shae envisioned.

“Yeah. Look, as…nice…as the dress is, I’m not sure it’s entirely…appropriate…for a soldier’s welcome home party.” _‘Or to present to our family as the carrier of our babe’_ Arya added in her head, looking Shae up and down in an outfit that was more suited to a night of clubbing than a family party.

“On contrary, as he’s a returning man of the Night’s Watch, I say he would appreciate the thrill, no?” Shae retorted with a heavy accent and cheeky smirk.

Arya’s head tilted to the side as the anger crept up her spine like a rising tide. Margaery must have sensed it because without another word she pulled Arya further down the corridor to her and Sansa’s bedroom while Shae made her way down the stairs. Just as Margaery was closing the bedroom door behind them, Arya could her Sansa’s tight voice float up the stairs “Oh, don’t you look…nice.”

*~*~*

“Merry just text me back.” Margaery stated with a smile from the passenger seat.

Sansa rolled her eyes but did not comment, choosing to keep her eyes on the road instead as they pulled up to the Manor.

“What did she say?” Arya pressed from the back seat.

“ _‘Fucking tease! Make sure she has my number for when she comes to her senses.’_ ” Margaery concluded with a laugh.

Arya let out a chuckle, stepping out of the car and going towards the rear to let Lady out of the boot. Lady started to bark loudly as soon as her paws hit the floor, as if calling out. The call was joined by several other voices and then a scramble could be heard from the open doorway as all the Starks’ wolves flooded the courtyard, led by none other than…

“Nymeria!” Arya shouted, running towards her beloved pet and throwing herself to the floor as the dog leaped forward, knocking her flat on her arse. Nymeria was stepping all over her to lick her face and Arya laughed loud, wrestling with her.

“ **Dynes!** ” Shae shrieked fearfully behind her. Arya managed to swivel her head in her direction and could see all the other dogs circling around Shae, sniffing her curiously. The reaction Shae had to Lady when they got to Sansa’s and Margaery’s earlier that day had been hilarious but this was priceless.

“Grey Wind! Shaggydog! Down!” Sansa commanded, shooing them all away from Shae; they did so, growling low as they went. Arya managed to push Nymeria off of her, still jostling the fur around her neck when the dogs turned their attention back to her, all of them vying for her attention at once. She ran her hands through their fur as she got back up to her feet and bit back the laugh at Shae’s partially traumatised expression.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” Sansa asked, putting a comforting arm around Shae’s shoulders to lead her into the Manor.

*~*~*

_‘Mother has outdone herself with the decorations again’_ Sansa thought with a smile, walking through the foyer and assessing the streamers, banners and balloons, exclusively in black, white and grey; the Stark’s and Jon’s regiment colours.

Sansa, Margaery and Shae walked in ahead of Arya who was still paying attention to Nymeria. Sansa surveyed the room and observed that Shae appeared to be the only person in attendance who had managed to not abide the Black, White and Grey edict handed down from her Mother. Sansa had tried to argue that, as lovely as her dress was, it was not in keeping with the theme but Shae had shot her down with a cavalier flick of the wrist and a comment about how drab colours didn’t go well with her personality. Sansa and Margaery had only met Shae a month ago after a month of speaking to her online so she didn’t feel comfortable pushing the topic.

“Hey!” Sansa and Margaery announced in synchronicity and got a chorus of the same in return. Her mother started to make her way towards them but Sansa just stepped to the side with a wry grin, preferring to get herself set up with a good view of the reunion.

She didn’t have to look behind her to know the exact second that Arya stepped into the room and became visible to their mother.

Her mother’s aquamarine eyes widened and she let out a loud shriek which drew the attention of all of her brothers and her dad. Their mother ran straight passed her to grip Arya in a bone crushing hug and Sansa could hear Arya's sudden intake of breath, clearly out of practice in receiving them. All the other Starks started to make their way over with wide, surprised smiles on their faces.

"My baby! Both of my babies are home from that horrible continent!" Catelyn Stark announced dramatically. _'I can't remember Mother having such a dislike of Essos before Arya and Jon ended up there. It's like she blames the continent for taking them away or something.'_ Sansa thought amusedly.

"I thought _I_ was the baby?" Rickon boomed heartily, stepping up to snatch Arya away from their mother.

"You're _a_ baby, douche-nugget, but we're all _her_ babies...you're just the biggest." Arya shot back, the ending doubly appropriate due to the sheer size and girth that Rickon had grown into, dwarfing the rest of them. Unthinkingly, yet proving the point fantastically, Rickon stood up straight, causing Arya's feet to dangle over a foot off of the floor.

Arya was passed around the rest of the family and, just to take the piss, as they often did, the boys didn't let her feet touch the floor again until she was in their father’s arms.

"The North has missed you girl." Her father proclaimed into her hair before stepping back to observe her properly. "How long will you be with us?"

"Well, it's Saturday now so probably about...indefinitely." Arya teased as their father folded her back into a happy embrace.

_'Totally milking it!'_ Sansa thought with a wry shake of the head as she approached Jon to give him his welcome home hug.

"It's so good to see you!" She whispered into his hair, giving her mother a run for her coin in terms of hug crushing capacity.

"You too. You look great." He said, taking a step back to look at her shrewdly. "Happy."

"Are you saying that I normally look like a miserable cow?" Sansa asked with a raised eyebrow and a deflection.

"No, you said that, I'm just not disagreeing." He replied seriously, the mirth in his eyes giving away everything his stoic expression did not.

"Sod!" She retorted, punching him in the chest.

"How ecstatic do I look?" Margaery chirped in from behind them with her signature smirk firmly in place.

"Pretty euphoric too." Jon replied, kissing her on the cheek, eying Sansa suspiciously.

"Well, of course she is." Shae put in from behind them, thickening her accent and tilting her head down in an attempt, Sansa could only assume, to be sultry. "I would be too if I were pressed up against such a man."

_'What the f...'_

Jon began to turn a phenomenal shade of red and sputter awkwardly, never having been one to accept flattery well.

"Ummmm...I...uhhhhuhhh...don't believe we've met?" Jon said, lifting his hand to shake hers politely.

Shae responded in her now typical fashion of putting only her fingers into Jon's outstretched hands, presumably, so that he might press a kiss there. "Shae." She breathed huskily, staring at her brother intently.

For Sansa, the age old formula, Sibling + Sex= Discomfort x Anger, applied to any and all persons; future babe carrier included and she just knew the tips of her ears were going pink. _‘Margaery and Arya just went over this for shit’s sake!’_ Sansa howled in her head. _‘Shae wasn’t in the room at the time but still!’_ She corrected herself angrily.

Before Jon was forced to make a decision about how to respond, Arya popped up out of nowhere, coming under Jon's raised arm and pulling it around her.

"Met their friend then?" She asked unnecessarily.

"Uhhhhuhhh...yes, just now." Jon got out.

"Good, good." Arya replied before turning her large grey eyes up to Jon's identical set. "Don't you also have someone you would like to introduce Sansa too?" She asked pointedly.

Jon's eyes got bigger in response and he let out a small smile that Sansa deemed relieved. "Yes...yes I do."

He turned away from them slightly and gestured to someone. It was then that Sansa noticed an unfamiliar girl about Jon's age with long, pale, silver-blonde hair and striking purple eyes making her way towards them.

By the time Jon opened his mouth to speak Arya had already disengaged herself from Jon and wrapped the mystery girl in one of her bear hugs. "Dany, this is my sister Sansa and her wife Margaery...oh...and their friend Shae." Jon said, pointing each of them out in turn and allowing quiet hellos and waves to be exchanged. "This is Dany, my...my fiancée."

Sansa was glad she hadn't had a chance to get a drink yet because she thought it would not have made a great first impression to have spat it out at the girl’s face in shock. "Fi...fiancée?" She asked, her voice coming out squeaker than she'd intended.

"Whoa." Margaery put in quickly with a wide, gleaming smile, giving Sansa a chance to compose herself she knew. "That's great. Unexpected maybe but great."

"Yes, unexpected. I didn't even know you were dating, Jon." Sansa said, trying not to make it sound like an accusation.

"Well, you know how it is." Jon started with a wry smile. "When I'm based overseas, I really don't get a lot of call time and...I just knew I would need more time than I had to tell you all about her." He stated with a fond smile down at the blonde.

They did make a striking couple, Sansa had to admit. Dany was snuggled up under Jon's arm, fitting in the nook under his shoulder, in a long sheer grey dress that was the exact same shade as Jon's tie.

"How long have you guys been seeing each other?" Margaery pressed.

"Six months." Dany now answered. "I had gotten myself...somewhat into a situation and ended up just outside of Astapor and Jon found me when he was doing one of his patrols."

"What kind of situation?" Sansa asked curiously, frustrated at not being able to get a gage of the girls strange accent.

"Well...I don't like the word 'abducted', but yeah, I was pretty much abducted by a gang of Dothraki just outside of Mereen and I managed to escape into the desert before it got rapey." She stated with a very straight face and a conversational tone which made Sansa blink in surprise. "I would say I wasn't too far from dying between the heat and the dehydration when Jon found me and took me back to their camp. He was just so chivalrous and...gallant about the whole thing...well, how can you _not_ fall in love with that?" Dany asked to the four women before looking up at Jon adoringly.

The girl seemed a little...eccentric to her but the way she looked at her brother put her unease to rest as did the open and happy expression on Jon’s face in return. _'Six months is still bloody soon to get engaged though.'_ Sansa thought not unkindly.

"So when did you get engaged?" Margaery asked as she clasped Sansa’s hand and locked their fingers together.

"About a month ago. Commander Mormont announced that their work in Astapor was finished and they were all returning to _The Wall_ so we discussed it and...here we are. There's no point being coy about these things." Dany stated and Sansa got the distinct impression that she would be 'the talker' in the relationship...not that it's hard to be chattier than Jon.

"That's a big decision." Sansa put in. "Leaving your family on such short notice must have been difficult." Sansa put in sympathetically, unable to imagine herself doing the same thing.

"Well, my family died when I was very young." Dany stated.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Sansa started, feeling terrible.

"It's okay. Well, it's not but you know what I mean. It's always been that way so I've never known anything else. So to answer your original question, no. Astapor or Mereen are no more ‘home’ to me than Braavos or Vaes Dothrak or any of the other places I spent time whilst growing up. If there's one thing being an orphan teaches you, it's that ‘home’ is people, not a place." Sansa could feel her face continue to flame, despite her best efforts, while feeling a swell of respect for the bizarre girl. Dany did not seem angry or upset by the topic but her eyes echoed with a resigned sadness. "That's why I didn't intend on letting Jon run off so easily." She smiled a broad and genuine smile up at Jon as she said it and it made Sansa's breath catch slightly to realise just how beautiful the girl was.

"Well, congratulations. You two make a great couple." Margaery stated with a wide smile at the pair.

"Oh gods...yes. Sorry! Congratulations." Sansa put in belatedly, wrapping Jon in a big hug. He finally released her, wide smile firmly in place before taking Margaery in his arms so Sansa stepped up to Dany, not really sure what was appropriate when the decision was taken out of her hands.

Dany stepped in close, pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks and wrapped her arms firmly around her waist. _'We appreciate a rib-cracking hug in this family; she’ll fit right in.'_ Sansa thought with a genuine smile.

*~*~*

"You’re working your freaky Old Valyrian magic on everyone just like I knew you would." Arya stated smugly to Dany as they sat close together on one of the cushioned wicker sofas in the conservatory, both petting Nymeria who had jumped up to sprawl over their laps.

"Well, it's easy when everyone's so nice." Dany shrugged off the compliment but glowed in response all the same.

"I think Rickon may challenge Jon to a duel for you at any minute." Arya joked, finishing the wine in her stupidly stingy but pretty glass while Danaerys just laughed. "Hey, so I have a bit of weird request for you. Would you not speak Valyrian to me in front of anyone?"

Dany's eyebrow quirked, clearly puzzled. "That is a strange request...even for you."

There were very few people for whom Arya would bother expanding the point for but she was very fond of Dany and she was Jon's fiancée and he only tended to associate with those who were loyal and trustworthy. "It's just...did you meet Shae?" Arya asked, nodding her head towards where Shae was leaning against the opposite wall, eye-fucking Robb who was cuddled up with Myrcella.

"Hmmmm." Dany made an unimpressed noise as she swirled her glass, clearly not taken with the girl either.

"Well, I'm kind of downplaying my Valyrian language skills at the moment."

"Why?" Dany pressed, no further enlightened.

"Because she's an arrogant fuck!" Arya snapped before she could bite it down, making Nymeria lift her head anxiously. She took a breath and schooled her features back to neutrality, patting Nymeria’s head before meeting Dany's violet stare again. "Arrogant people always give something away that they don't intend to. Arrogant people who think no one understands what they’re saying...will do it even faster."

Dany eyed her shrewdly and Arya just met her intense eyes squarely. "It is known." Dany conceded with a small smile, not pushing for more.

Arya looked away with a smile and that's when she saw Hot Pie walk into the room, wringing his hands nervously, eying all the servers dishing out trays of his food.

"Hot Pie!" She shouted, scooting out from under Nymeria’s bottom half and launched herself up and out of her seat. As she started to make quick strides towards him she heard Dany start to say something like, "Oh wait! I need to tell you something!" But Arya was determined.

She heard Jon call out to her too but was more puzzled on why Hot Pie looked so queasy to stop and talk to him now.

She was about six feet away from Hot Pie, who looked like he was watching a car crash, when someone stepped out through the doorway after Hot Pie.

Arya Stark did not often feel surprised or ill-equipped to deal with a situation and on even fewer occasions were these feelings visible for anyone else to see but upon seeing Gendry step out of that doorway, she was unable to keep an unaffected look on her face as she felt the breath well and truly knocked from her body.

Her one consolation was that Gendry appeared no less composed at the surprise reunion than she was; they just stared at each other awkwardly while Hot Pie's eyes flicked back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis match, also uncertain of how to proceed. She wasn’t sure how long the three of them stood there, just looking at each other, not even breathing it seemed. When the silence was just shy of reaching _'Level: Oppressive'_ , Hot Pie found some courage and steeped towards her. "Arry." He welcomed, stepping up to give her a hug.

She gratefully stepped into the embrace, squeezing him tightly as a release for the unbearable tension in her body. Arya also took the opportunity to close her eyes so that she did not have to look at Gendry over Hot Pie's shoulder, look into his eyes or feel the familiar swell of fondness at his flummoxed expression. _'Flummoxed always did look too good on him.'_ She thought before she could stop herself.

"When did you get back?" Hot Pie asked, leaning back to look at her.

"Yesterday?" She answered, inflecting the end of it like it was a question instead of an answer and then shook her head internally at herself for letting herself get frazzled. "It just, felt like time to come back to Westeros. Essos was amazing but it's not home."

They both nodded appreciatively and then silence fell again. Apparently, Hot Pie wasn't going to go two-for-two because he then stated, "Well, I got to go keep an eye on the honeyed chicken stew. I don't trust anyone else to do it. It gets a slimy skin if you don’t heat it just right." He turned to Gendry with an apologetic look on his face, "Sorry mate. I'll be back out in a bit." He put a reassuring hand on Arya's shoulder as he retreated.

"I'm going to come for a visit to HP's soon." She stated, trying to prolong his retreat.

His response was a wide smile. "I should hope so. Business partners still eat for free." Then he turned the corner and was gone.

Arya took a deep breath to calm herself and turned to Gendry and saw that his chest was expanding widely as he did the same. They both seemed to realise this in the same moment and they both let out a nervous little laugh which managed to break the tension, only marginally, but Arya was still grateful for it.

"Hey." She started with a sardonic smile, at a loss for what else to open with.

"Hey." He replied and she struggled not to close her eyes and moan at the familiar, deep timber of his voice.

"How's things?" She asked, slightly awkward.

"Good." He replied simply.

Arya didn't take umbrage at his limited offering of words; he had always been like that...in public at least. "Are you still in King's Landing? Is the apprenticeship everything you were hoping it would be?"

He buried his hands in his trouser pockets and bobbed his head back and forth. "Yes and no. It's...not quite what I was expecting it to be but I'm learning a lot and it's really interesting so it's great in that respect."

She nodded her head appreciatively. "I'm glad for you." She paused for a long moment before adding, "You look good." She was slightly annoyed with herself for opening her mouth but truth was truth. His neck turned red and it just made him look even more awkward yet alluring. He cast a shifty look around the room whilst fiddling with his lapel and she knew that he was comparing his older, cheaper and slightly mismatched suit to the fitted, expensive and glossy rags that the other partygoers were wearing. He'd always cared about such things more than her, aware of every difference between their ‘world’s’ and would stare at her intently, daring her, yet terrified, that she would comment on it. He had money now though she knew but wasn't surprised that Gendry hadn't learned yet how to spend it on things he deemed frivolous, like clothing. _**'When you've gone days without eating as a kid, you grow up and see everything in terms of how many meals it could buy, not how many coins it costs'**_ he'd told her once. Looking back, it was when he had said that that she realised she was in love with him.

"You look...you look great too." He said, sapphire eyes running down her body quickly before meeting her eyes again. "I'd always wondered what you'd look like with long hair." He stared at her hard, his arm twitching slightly as if his hand wanted to touch what his eyes were contemplating so intensely.

Sympathy pains must have made her bring her own hand up to smooth her tresses down, almost self-consciously. She let out a small laugh, lost for what else she could say.

"I suppose we look more like Lyanna and Robert now than ever." He commented almost angrily though she knew it was not directed at her. She did not care to speak of Robert Baratheon. _'Pathetic, drunken sot!'_ she thought acidly.

She sensed eyes on her and swept her periphery to see the eyes of most of the family on them. Her Dad's expression was hard to read, as it often was, though she sensed a pinch of melancholy in his gaze. "That's probably what my Dad is thinking." She commented, looking away.

"Oh no, he's thinking something completely different." Gendry stated, looking back at her father briefly. She tried not to get annoyed, knowing that he likely didn't mean the comment to come out as bitter as it did.

A loud bark filled the air and then a mess of grey fur suddenly descended upon Gendry, leaping up with eager excitement close to the enthusiasm level she had shown for her returning mistress.

"Hello Beautiful!" He stated with a big smile as Nymeria rose up on her hind legs in an attempt to lick his face. Nymeria could easily place her paws on Arya's shoulders and stand taller than her, however, there was a foot difference in height between Arya and Gendry so that meant he would have to duck his head down slightly for her to reach him…which he did. The forced conversation was momentarily forgotten as Nymeria was petted to within an inch of her life by his large hands. _'Lucky bitch!'_ Arya thought drily. It was when Nymeria actually climbed up on Gendry, his arm wrapping under her hind legs while the other went to scratch her belly and her head lolled on his shoulder, tongue hanging out that Arya rolled her eyes. _'Play it cool can't you?'_

"What are doing here anyway?" Arya asked, unable to curb her curiosity any longer.

He lifted his gaze from Nymeria's golden eyes back to her silver ones. "Hot Pie insisted on doing the catering when he heard about the party for Jon, fully-comp, and I was there when they met up earlier to organise things. I haven't seen Jon for ages and he invited me. I wouldn't have come if I'd known you'd be here." She felt her face pinch slightly at the comment and he almost immediately realised what he'd said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

She knew that he didn't mean the words to sound quite so harsh but the sentiment was truth. "You shouldn't apologise for words of truth." She stated, looking down, annoyed that her face was giving more away in the last ten minutes than it did the last two years.

"Still, it was harsher than I meant it to sound." He said, opening his mouth to say more before closing it again resolutely.

"It's fine." She placated, looking back up into his eyes. She'd always loved his eyes. They were a deep, dark blue like the ocean with flecks of grey in them that looked like sea foam. She could practically smell the salt if she looked into them long enough and hear the cry of the 'gulls. It was only when trying to describe Gendry's eyes that she ever felt she came close to having the capacity to be poetic. "Besides, I actually meant _'What are you doing here?'_ , as in Winterfell, in general."

"Oh." He stated, the heat creeping up his neck again as he looked down at Nymeria, who took it as a cue to lick his face thoroughly. He laughed softly before answering the question. "Just here for the weekend visiting Hot Pie."

She nodded, feeling that they had completely depleted all topics of conversation that were safe to broach in front of her family which were also the only topics she could bear to discuss with him at all.

A tense silence crept up on them when Jon thankfully approached them. "Gendry. Thanks for coming, mate." Jon smiled and held out his hand for him to shake. Gendry tried to juggle Nymeria in his arms to shake Jon's hand for a moment before giving up and depositing her back on the floor while she whined like a pup, staying next to him to nuzzle her head into his side. _'Pathetic!'_ Arya judged her companion harshly.

"Thanks for inviting me." Gendry replied, clasping Jon's forearm under the elbow as he did the same. "Happy to be back?"

"Definitely. Too bloody hot there. Don't know how Ar handled it as long as she did." Jon said, putting an arm over her shoulders in what Arya knew he considered a supportive gesture but it just made her feel claustrophobic, pinned there and unable to make a getaway.

"Hello there, big brother." Myrcella stepped up to them with a smile on her face as bright as her golden locks.

"Hey." Gendry greeted back with an identical smile and stepped up to fold her in his arms.

It did Arya’s heart good to see them together like this. When Gendry’s paternity had come out a couple of years ago, it had been incredibly difficult for him. The only family he had ever had, his mother, had been lost to him when he was a small child. Unable to afford healthcare or even enough food to ensure that the two of them went to bed with a full belly every night, his mother had worked every hour The Seven sent to provide for the two of them while his _Father_ lived in exorbitant wealth on the other side of the city with his cookie cutter perfect family. Gendry had been alone for so long. Myrcella and Tommen had been eager to get to know him when they were made aware of his existence while Robert just wanted to throw coin at him until he went away. The only time Robert Baratheon really looked at Gendry like he was more than a by-product of a night of lust was when Arya had been stood next to him and anyone could see the pathetic hopeless longing for what might have been. Lyanna. Robert Baratheon was a man whose mind was as bloated with excuses as his belly was with ale. _He could have been more if…He would have been better if…He would have been happy if…If, If , If._ Not one scenario held himself accountable for his own behaviour.

"You had best have been planning to visit me while you were here!" She chastised with a scolding eyebrow raised.

He chuckled before replying, "Give me a chance Myrcella! I hadn't been in the North an hour when I got invited here...where I knew I'd see you."

She raised her eyebrow higher as if trying to detect a lie but he just lifted his own in mock imitation. "Fine. I will deign to believe you this occasion. Please excuse us though gentlemen. It has been so long since I last saw my little, good-sister."

Without another word, Myrcella linked her arm with Arya's and pulled her away from the situation. Myrcella managed to do it quite casually but Arya still saw it as rescue and was rather relieved, for once, not angered by being saved. _‘Better than the alternative.’_

She finally dropped Myrcella's arm as they escaped to the living room doorway, looking out on the people still mingling and relieved that she could finally take a breath. Arya's suspicions that Myrcella had been conducting a rescue were all but confirmed when she didn't immediately say anything when they were away; instead, she stood calmly sipping her drink, surveying the intimate gathering.

"Thanks." Arya said when her breathing allowed, still looking down at the floor.

She could hear Myrcella's heels shift on the stone floor as she fidgeted, clearly building up to something. "Look, things between us weren't very good when you left. I just wanted the say that I was s-"

"Please don't apologise." Arya interrupted, finally looking up. "You weren't the one that was out of line."

"But...but I hit you and that-"

"That impressed me actually." Arya said with a cheeky grin.

"Can't you just accept an apology?" Myrcella bit out in minor frustration but was smiling now too.

"When it's deserved: yes." Arya replied simply.

Myrcella smiled wider at her again and put her arms around her in a hug. "Right, well, now that that's done, I need to go find my husband. Sansa and Margaery's friend keeps looking at him like he's a roasted pig and she's just come back from a twelve month expedition beyond _The Wall_."

Arya laughed through her dislike. "I think that would be wise."

*~*~*

"Hello there stranger." A familiar, lilting voice called from behind. He turned with a smile, familiar to the scenario; standing in the middle of a Stark party, feeling the burning stares piercing the back of his neck like blades and Margaery standing by his side, equally out at sea. He hoped that Margaery had managed to win her way into their affections a bit more, since her and Sansa were married now.

"Hey-"

"You never text me back." She complained before he could get anything else out.

"You know I hate to-"

"And you're even worse with phone calls." She pushed.

"I don't like talking to people I can't see! It feels a little schizophrenic."

"Well, you'll have to get over it or we're not going to ever speak to each other. It's not like you come back to Winterfell much...do you?" She asked suspiciously, clearly mistrustful suddenly that he could have been dodging her.

"No! It's only the second time I've been back since I left." He stated, trying to convince her. "Hot Pie comes back to see his Mum sometimes so I see him when he's back. Myrcella comes down to see her family...well...Tommen quite a bit too. Most people I would make the trip for are down there enough that it's not required. Why don't you come and see me?" He teased, putting on a pouty face that he knew looked ridiculous on a large brute such as himself.

She laughed in response. "Not too keen on returning to that rat's nest truth be told."

They looked at each other for a long moment before smiling. "Hey." She said, going up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders as best she could.

"Hey." He chuckled into her shoulder, releasing her a long moment later. "So, what's new with you?"

"Well, work’s okay. The interior design stuff isn't really what I want to do but it pays the bills more than my canvas stuff does." She said, looking a bit disappointed but resigned. _'The cost of being a grown up'_ he thought resentfully. "Sansa got made deputy head of her school last year which is mental as she's so young! Apparently it, like, never happens but she impressed them so she's working her arse of and has about 70% more things to stress over now but she loves it."

Gendry nodded politely though it didn't really bother him too much what Sansa was up to. They'd never been each other's favourite people.

Margaery seemed to sense his apathy towards the topic and moved on quickly, no doubt resigned to the fact that if Gendry and Sansa could never find common ground while he was with Arya, it was certainly not like to happen now. "So, what's new with you? You're still enjoying the apprenticeship and the course, right?"

"Yep." He nodded his head, smiling to himself, knowing that he would likely be having this conversation a couple more times before the party was done with the few people in the room who would speak to him. "It's going good." He nodded a couple of times before hesitantly adding, "I'm seeing someone."

"Oh?" Margaery replied, with cool composure.

"Yeah. Her name is Jeyne. She runs an inn with her sister Willow. She's...great."

"I'm sure she is." Margaery said, again, giving nothing away. "Does...uhh...does Arya know?" She asked, the first time letting an expression show on her face, that expression being concern. "Not that I'm saying she should or anything. You've been split up for two years after all, I just don't want to put my foot in it if she doesn’t know."

"No, no, I get...Hot Pie could have told her I suppose. I know they talked regularly while she was away but I don't know either way, I just know _I_ didn't mention it. We only spoke for five minutes or so." He looked down, thinking how horribly awkward yet wonderful seeing her again had been.

"I saw that." Margaery said, nodding her head.

"M'not surprised." He rumbled, glaring at his glass. "Could feel them all looking at me, outraged I hadn't learned my place by now no doubt." The bitterness of the ale matched his words as he took a deep swallow.

"I'm not sure that's quite-" Margaery started trying to placate him.

"Best not to talk about it." He interrupted, realising he wasn't being fair to have such a rant with her. _'We’re not in the same boat together any more. We’re not even in the same ocean.’_ “So, that’s it then? Nothing else new? Who’s the bird with Sansa?” He fired off quickly trying to distract her from the topic.

“Well…that’s Shae.” Margaery started before her face kind of crumpled into hesitant, guarded look. _'Hesitant is an unfamiliar way for Margaery Tyrell to do anything.'_ He thought suspiciously.

He waited for her to expand but she didn't. “She a Uni friend or something?” He pushed, sensing she wanted him to.

“…No.”

Again he waited but she said nothing. Margaery was obviously not being evasive accidentally so he opened his mouth to prompt her again when she continued. “I’m really glad you’re here Gendry.” She put in, looking up at him with her big, amber, doe eyes which added to his suspicion. “There is something else new but it’s something we’re going to…announce in a bit to everyone.” She grabbed his hand suddenly and squeezed it almost painfully tight thanks to her manicured nails. “I’m glad I’ll have you with me for this. I might need you to prop me up.” She laughed weakly.

He stared at her for a long moment, trying to figure out what it was she needed before settling on something simple as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve got you.” He said sincerely and they smiled at each other.

*~*~*

Arya was picking through Hot Pie's miniature lamprey pies when she heard several booming shouts of "MY MORMONT!"

She let the smile bloom on her face as she abandoned the half eaten pie and ran into the foyer.

There, she could see that Dacey was already in the arms of Jon and Robb, Sansa had been lifted over Alysane's shoulder and was being spun around, her hair and laughter flying. Bran had Jorelle cuddled into his side, their height difference always hilarious while Rickon was holding Lyanna in his arms, throwing her up and down as if she were a toddler despite her buxom build. Lyra was stood back with Maege as Ned greeted her, slightly more restrained but no less enthusiastically than his children, a smile on her face though not as wide as the other’s, having no one to claim her as 'My Mormont'.

Arya smiled wide, keeping her eyes on Lyra before stepping forward and booming as loud as Rickon could, "My Mormont!" Lyra beamed widely when she looked up and saw her, bounding towards Arya with a yell.

Lyra had a lanky build like Dacey but wasn't as tall, her jet black hair still cut choppily around her shoulders like it was before Arya had left for Essos. Despite Lyra being substantially taller than Arya, it was still she who leaped into Arya’s waiting arms, wrapping her legs around her waist and screaming into her ear. "You’re back, you’re back! 'Bout fucking time, Stark! It's been so boring!"

"I dare say you found something to fill your time with." Arya replied as she set her down, noting the lecherous smile that spread thick across her face like honey, giving a small nod. "How's the flat? How's Bran as a flatmate?" Arya put in, gutted that she had had to give up her room at their small shared flat in Winter Town.

"He's good. There's no weird smells or noises coming from his room, we cuddle and have decent conversation over a cup of tea and he's a damn sight more to my tastes to look at than you. He's basically pleasing to the five senses in a way that you never achieved."

"That's only four." Arya pointed out smugly.

"Well you know how sometimes a smell can be so bad you can taste it in the back your throat? Yeah, you had that sometimes." Lyra clarified, straight-faced.

"Bitch!" Arya snapped, punching Lyra in the arm, to which her only reply was to laugh pleasantly as if it had been an unexpected kiss to the cheek.

"I am rather fond of having a dire wolf around the flat if I'm honest. Though, I do miss Nymeria." Lyra threw a searching look around the room. "Where is she anyway? I thought she'd be on you like flies on shit now that you’re back. She’s been moping something rotten since you went."

Arya tried not to feel guilty at that though she knew with utter certainty that once the original happiness of her return had faded, Nymeria was going to pout with her something fierce. Arya's face morphed into the epitome of unimpressed annoyance as she prepared to answer. "Yeah, she's probably still hanging around...Gendry." She ended on a sigh, knowing what was to follow.

"Gendry? The two of you finally pulled your heads out of your arses then? Great to hear! Are you back permanently then? I do miss the shit out of you! You’re not moving down South though are you? 'Cause-"

"Fuck me Lyra, take a bloody breath will you before you pass out." Arya interrupted, putting her hands on Lyra’s shoulders and making her look into her eyes. When Lyra took a visible breath Arya made an attempt to answer the many questions asked. "No, Gendry and I aren't back together. Hot Pie's in the kitchen catering and Jon invited him to come. Yes, I'm back permanently. No, I'm most fucking definitely not moving down South-"

It was good that she was done answering because Lyra squealed happily and wrapped her arms around Arya's head started jumping up and down. "Stark-less for two years! Two years! I mean, I had Bran but it's not the same and he's Jory’s anyway so, you know." She let out a long sigh. "But you're both still wearing your arses as hats? A shame! Especially his. What an arse. I could write a sonnet about those cheeks! Let me have a go. _Oh, bountiful buttocks-_ " Lyra began to sing, as off-key as she was loud.

"Shut it!" Arya growled, only half joking, tugging Lyra's hair slightly in their unspoken gesture for, _'You're almost, nearly going too far.'_

Lyra took the hint and replied with, the also non-verbal, _‘Sorry’_ ; she bit Arya on the neck. They laughed it off together and that was the end of that.

The Starks and Mormonts all swapped so that everyone was greeted. The Mormont girls never failed to make her laugh. She loved how they all had the same jet black hair, forest green eyes and facial features as each other and yet all looked completely different due to their different heights and builds; like they were all the same girl that had been stretched or condensed into different shapes.

Arya wrapped her arms around her other former housemate, the shortest of them all, Stark and Mormont’s alike, Jorelle, and smiled widely. “Hey Shorty.”

“Hey!” The little powerhouse replied with a megawatt smile. “I’ve missed you, Girl! Enjoy the travels?”

Arya shrugged, nonchalantly. “Meh, not bad.” She said, unaffected.

Jorelle smiled at Arya’s blasé manner. “Hah! Oh yeah? Twenty-Two month long jaunt through Essos, pretty alright?”

“Awwwww. You counted Jory.” Arya teased.

“Ah, hush up, fool!” Jorelle smiled then spent a moment surmising her. “You look different.”

“I do?” Arya asked, unsure.

“Indeed.”

“It’s not been that long…only twenty-two months, apparently.” Arya snarked with a wicked grin.

“Shut it and you do!” Jorelle lifted her hand to run it through Arya’s hair. “Your hair’s gone lighter. It looks like you got red highlights or something.”

Arya laughed at that. “Hah! Trust me, I did not have time to faff around with highlights and certainly did not suddenly start caring about shit like that whilst out there.”

“No, no, it’s definitely natural. Look at your freckles too! The sun made the Tully pop out!” Jory laughed.

“Jory!” Alysane shouted over to them. “Get over here!” She waved her over to where all the other Mormont’s were stood with Jon, clearly getting ready for a photo their mother was preparing to snap.

“Yeah, we’re making Jon’s dreams come true!” Dacey added with a cheeky smile.

Jory wriggled her eyebrows at Arya before running over to her sisters, Arya smiling after her and outright laughing when the girls stood in a neat line and hauled Jon up to lie across their open arms.

*~*~*

"Are you ready?" Margaery asked sweetly, sweeping some of Sansa's auburn hair behind her ear and kissing her cheek.

"Yeah." Sansa nodded with shaky confidence, sweeping her thumb over Margaery's cheek in return.

"Nervous?" She pressed.

"Yeah." Sansa repeated again with a laugh. "But good ‘nervous’. Like, when I got married to you ‘nervous’."

"You were nervous getting married to me?" Margaery teased.

Sansa wrapped her arms around Margaery's shoulders tightly and buried her nose in her neck. "Only a little bit. You were such a renowned flirt after all." She finished by biting her neck making Margaery jump.

"Well," Margaery breathed in, digging her fingertips firmly into Sansa's hips, "all my attentions have been directed just where they should be for years now."

"Really?" Sansa smiled benignly, knowing it to be true.

"Mmmmmmm." Margaery moaned before pressing her tongue to the notch between Sansa's collar bones, left bare by her dress. "Besides, where else could I find another like you? Who looks like sugar but tastes like sin."

Sansa almost swallowed her tongue and pushed Margaery back hastily when she felt her fingers ghosting up her thighs. "None of that, none of that now." She chastised with red cheeks as she ran her hands the front of her dress.

"Are you certain?" Margaery cajoled, 'helping' Sansa by running her fingers down the side of the dress, purely for smoothing down purposes, obviously.

"Yes!" Sansa snapped as she swatted Margaery's far too talented hands away from her traitorous body. "I will not be caught in a compromising position in my parent’s parlour...again."

"Bran recovered." Margaery swatted the comment away easily.

"Not entirely." Bran commented as he entered the room through the arched doorway, not breaking stride and walking over to the bookshelf. "You two should really use rooms with doors for this sort of thing." Bran stated as he picked up a book and began reading the back as Sansa put a clear six feet of space between herself and her wife with a pointed look, clear as a summers day, declaring _I told you so!_.

"There was no ‘type of thing’ of _any_ sort intended." Sansa defended, now walking over to Bran and throwing her arms around her _Male Mirror_ , looking into his identical blue eyes, set behind the spectacles that she had foregone that day. "Save me from the evil seductress." She implored before burying her head in his chest dramatically.

Bran threw a look over his sister’s head at Margaery who looked steadfastly back with a leer. "I may need a flamethrower." He declared, feeling her giggle into his chest. "Or maybe I just need a..." Bran started, throwing the book off to the right, both females eyes swivelling to the direction of the soft thud. "DISTRACTION!" He yelled, suddenly ducking down and throwing Sansa over his shoulder.

Margaery rolled her eyes while Sansa squealed with laughter, throwing her hands up, one to brace herself on Bran’s hip and the other to keep the hemline of her dress at a dignified placement as he fled the room and scurried down the corridor with Margaery following at a more sedate pace.

When all three entered the living room again, Bran turned back towards Margaery, holding his hand up in a stop gesture. "Back, vile temptress!" He yelled heartily. Sansa wasn't sure if the pain in her ribs was from laughter or Bran’s collarbone but, either way, she was grateful when he deposited her onto the sofa...or she should say, on top of her parent’s laps, whom were sat on the sofa.

"Helloooo." Sansa drew out comically, smiling widely up at both parents who just scoffed, laughed and rolled their eyes, her mother’s hand automatically going to her hair to comb her fingers through it.

"I saved her." Bran fake panted, bracing his hands on his knees as if catching his breath. "I saved the fair maiden from that...that," he stopped at pointed at Margaery who was calmly crossing the room, "saucy minx!" waving his finger at her as if in admonishment.

Margaery bared her teeth and curled her fingers into claws, hissing menacingly as she reached Myrcella, Meera and Alysane whom were sat together, eyeballing Bran the whole time.

"Good lad." Ned praised apathetically with a straight face, leaning over Sansa's legs, still laid across his lap, to grab his horn of ale while pushing his glasses back up his nose.

Margaery said something to the other women which made them laugh heartily and, though she had not heard it, the look Margaery threw her made Sansa feel she should blush.

As much of a laugh as it had been, in hindsight, Sansa didn't think that this was necessarily the best nor most mature display to treat her parents to immediately preceding an announcement that their daughter was that much closer to having a babe of her own. _'Ah well.'_

"So, where's that book, Bran?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow from his perch on the arm of the sofa next to their mother, knowing exactly how prone Bran was to distraction.

"Oh yeah, I did...I'll go get it." Bran said, turning back to the parlour, presumably to grab 'DISTRACTION' book again.

"Hold up a sec. We want to tell you something." Sansa struggled to her feet, holding out her hand for Margaery to join her, which she did, megawatt smile firmly back in place. "Rick, go get everyone else and bring them in here, will you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure." He said from where he was stood, Lyanna tucked securely under his arm and hers looped around his waist. He turned his head and boomed, "OI! EVERYONE GET IN HERE! SANSA AND MARGAERY GOT SOMETHING TO TELL US!"

When the chandeliers stopped tinkling in protest at the sonic vibrations in the room, Sansa huffed out a breath and said with little enthusiasm, "Yeah, cheers."

That being said, he got the job done as everyone that had been scattered around did start to enter the living room slowly, looking curious at potential news.

Sansa started to bite her lip and felt her palm become slippery in Margaery's hand as everyone's exclusive attention turned to her. "Shae?" She said, spying her propped up against a pillar in the corner. "Do you want to come up here?" Sansa asked, gesturing for her to join them. Shae sauntered up to where they stood in front of everyone else and stepped to Sansa’s side, charming smile in place as she grabbed Sansa’s hand.

“Okay, well, hello.” Sansa started awkwardly, looking around as she felt her heartbeat begin to race. “Well, as you all know, Margaery and I have been married for a while, nearly two years…well, twenty-two months but you were all there so you know…” Sansa trailed off, watching the pitiful and amused looks spread across the faces of the guests and feeling her face flame. “Uhh…has everyone met Shae? Because…this is Shae.” She gestured unnecessarily to the newcomer next to her. _‘Margaery’s announcement went so much smoother last night. Maybe I should have just asked her to do it again.’_ “Well, yeah, moving on.” Sansa started, a nervous laugh escaping her mouth without her consent. “So, the thing is…the…thing…” _‘You should not be bad at public speaking! You are a teacher for Crone’s sake! You stand up in front of people and speak every day! Little people but still…’_ The nerves in her belly were winding her up like a string, pulled taut and ready to snap. Margaery’s hand suddenly came down on her behind, smacking Sansa’s arse and as she jumped in reaction the words tumbled out. “Shae’s going to surrogate for us!”

There was a long moment’s pause where it seemed that no one was quite sure if she had said what they thought she had before her mother’s shriek filled the room and she pushed none too gently passed all the guests to reach up and wrap Sansa in her arms. The Stark men began to push to the front also, Rickon getting to them first and lifting Margaery off of her feet. He let out a laugh before throwing his head back and letting out a long howl, as had been his standard celebration since he was five years old which was then taken up by the more literal wolves of the household. Sansa could barely make out who she was being held by and who was declaring words of congratulations in her ear as she was passed around so fast but she managed to spot Arya briefly between hugs from Myrcella and a Mormont. Her sister was stood to the side, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eying Shae intensely which made her nervous for reasons she couldn’t name.

*~*~*

Arya quickly turned away when she heard the door opening, offering whoever it was her back as she tried to hold in her breath in an attempt to not let the smoke out that was now simmering in her lungs.

"Hello Arya." Came Jojen's airy voice.

Arya coughed out the smoke in relief, unable to bare the tickle in the back of her throat any longer.

"Oh, thank Rhollor it's you, JoJo." Arya smiled at her younger brother’s friend. "I thought you were one of the boys or gods forbid my mother."

"I'm not." Jojen replied simply.

"Yes, Jojen, I know you're not." Arya replied amused. "Do you want one?" She asked, offering Jojen one of her self-rolled cigarettes.

Jojen eyed the packet before stepping forward and taking one. "They're the good kind." He commented empathetically.

"Only the best for you _Little Grandfather_." She replied with an equally unaffected tone as she leaned forward to light the cigarette for him, Joejen cupping his hands around hers, protecting it from the northern winds. "That's the one thing I'll miss about Essos; their tobacco is twenty times better than ours."

"Hands down." He agreed, taking his first deep inhale.

They smoked in companionable silence for a moment. Jojen had been a common feature in their home whilst growing up, almost as much as the Mormonts were but Jojen did not go with people particularly well. She knew that his father and sister had worried about it the older he got; his lack of social skills seeming to bother them inversely to as little it bothered Jojen himself. Despite this, for some reason, Jojen had taken to Bran from the first moment they met, even being the one to go up to Bran and introducing himself which had apparently been a first. Jojen rarely spoke but when he did he spoke airily, unaffected yet blunt at the same time so no one really knew how to take him. Rickon in particular was bothered by Jojen's lack of interaction and had given up trying long ago though there was no bad feeling between them. Robb and Sansa were both polite but equally ill-equipped to deal with someone so singularly unable to converse. It was only really her and Jon that had any time for him and were able to spend any prolonged period in his presence, both equally, if not more, comfortable in a steady silence.

"Are you in law now?" Arya asked, less to make conversation and more out if genuine curiosity.

"Yes."

"Hmmm." She acknowledged and said no more.

The rest of her cigarette burned away steadily in silence. She had just pocketed the butt of her cigarette in her dress, spinning on her heel to return indoors when he spoke. "Are you worried?"

Arya felt a little bit of ominous dread fill her; whenever Jojen did speak unprompted to her, it had always involved a bit too much truth for her to handle. Still, she replied. "Worried about what?"

"About their reaction, when they see just how much you've changed." He clarified, looking deeply into her eyes, the intensity bordering on uncomfortable.

Jojen and Meera had both inherited the exact same mossy green eyes from their father, Howland, but it was only Jojen's eyes that seemed to hold a cavernous depth to them; as though, were you to stare into them for too long, you'd fall and never find your way back.

She took a moment to consider before giving him his answer. "A little bit." The answer was truth for as much as she would laugh at herself sometimes and think it ridiculous for her to doubt her family, there would be just as many instances where her actions from the past two years would come screaming back at her and the cold dread would fill her again.

He nodded and said no more, turning to look back out across the snow covered forest that joined to the gardens.

*~*~*

Alysane was squeezing Sansa painfully tight as she swung her from side-to-side. “Well done, kid!”

Sansa huffed, hating it when Alysane called her ‘kid’ as she was only a couple of moons older than Sansa and Alysane _knew_ she hated it which is why she did it…because Alysane was a sod.

“Oh, shut up Aly.” Sansa grumbled, still smiling with the buzz of all the congratulations they were receiving. “I’m disappointed the kids weren’t here to hear the news.” Sansa bemoaned, referring to Alysane’s twin cubs, Jocelyn and Edwyle.

“Uncle Jeor wanted to treat them to a week in Essos after the Night’s Watch finished the Astapor job. I’m sure they’ll demand to be brought here as soon as they’re back on Westeros soil now that Jon _and_ Arya are back.”

“Isn’t Aunty Sansa enough?” Inquired innocently, bringing her hand daintily up to her chest as though deeply offended.

“Oh, Aunty Sansa is great, hopping them up on lemon cakes before sending them back to _me_ for the sugar rush and subsequent come-down. Cheers for that, by the way. Though I suppose your uppence will soon be coming.” Alysane quipped back, a little unsteady on her feet having let go a bit, not being on Mama Bear duty for the day.

“Yeah, I suppose it will.” Sansa smiled to herself before she felt Margaery sneak up behind her, wrapping her arms around her and snuggling into her shoulder blade, turning Sansa slightly so that she could see Alysane also without giving up her hold.

“Quite an interesting method of…encouragement you have, Tyrell, to get Stark here over her ‘public speaking stammer’.” Alysane smiled semi-vacantly, chuckling into her brandy tumbler.

Margaery just smiled, snuggling deeper into Sansa’s back, a drunken flush present in her cheeks. “Oh, you know, I try.” She managed to get out before giggling maniacally into Sansa’s shoulder strap.

“Yeah, if she’s struggling to get the words out,” Alysane paused to let out a string of hearty chortles, “just give Teach here a bit of a spanking to get it out of her.” Alysane now dissolved into gasping breaths, thudding her large palms onto her even larger thighs.

“Yes, yes.” Sansa put in with little enthusiasm, feeling her cheeks begin to flush and the gentle but loud teasing. “Very amusing.” Margaery squeezed her tightly from behind but Sansa could feel the motion of her laughter from where they were pressed so close together.

“Why is Sansa Stark like a bottle of ketchup?” Alysane’s voice now boomed throughout the room, drawing looks from everyone in the area. “She’s red and if you have trouble getting something out of her, just give her a smack on the bottom!” Alysane’s laughter was joined most predominantly by Rickon’s, Lyanna’s and Maege’s while Sansa’s face flamed and she wished fervently that she could evaporate into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dynes=Beast in Valyrian
> 
> My Mormont Key  
> *Robb & Jon= Dacey  
> *Sansa= Alysane  
> *Arya= Lyra  
> *Bran= Jorelle (AKA, Jory)  
> *Rickon= Lyanna (AKA, Lya)
> 
> I know I'm throwing you into an established world with intention of revealing bit-by-bit but any confusion, please feel free to ask, I really don't mind.
> 
> *WC68*


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a day late; Femslash Feb daily updates are killing me! Anyway, Happy Valentine's all!
> 
> *WC68*

Arya eagerly wolfed down large bites of food despite feeling her mother’s reprimanding stare burn into the side of her head. "I missed northern food." She managed to get out around her partially chewed mouthful.

Her mother's annoyance seemed to evaporate at the gentle reminder that Arya was now home and walked over to her youngest daughter to place a kiss on her crown. "That's a Southron recipe." She stated with a teasing yet satisfied smirk.

Arya paused for a second, contemplating the dish in front of her with narrowed eyes before shrugging her shoulders. "Westerosi food then; whatever, I'll take it."

Her mother laughed, happy that, if nothing else, a bit of time away seemed to have neutralised Arya's _Us and Them_ attitude when it came to the North and the South.

As Catelyn started to make her way around her daughter to grab the laundry basket, stroking her ponytail as she went, she noticed some black ink on her shoulder blades, sticking out from her vest straps and let out a loud, disapproving sigh.

"Arya!" Her mother started sternly. Arya swivelled her head towards the sound of her mother’s irate voice, confused about what she could have done to annoy the woman with her mouth closed and her back towards her. Catelyn hooked her finger around the vest strap meaningfully and Arya got it.

"Oh." Arya edged.

"I thought you'd given my poor heart all the work out it could take when I discovered _those_ ones last night." Catelyn scolded, indicating the running wolf and leaping trout on her wrists. Arya seemed to be operating under the assumption that anything she said would only aggravate her mother further so wisely decided to stay quiet. “What is this anyway?” Catelyn asked, pulling Arya’s straps aside to reveal the tattoo beneath.

To go with the Stark and Tully house emblems on her wrists, she’d also opted to get the family motto at the top of each shoulder blade, **Winter is Coming** on her left and **Family, Duty, Honour** on her right. Arya remained perfectly still, waiting for her mother to blow up at yet another tattoo but it didn’t come. She turned her head warily and caught the tail end of a fond look on her mother’s face before she could mask it.

“Is that _my_ handwriting?” Catelyn asked, not looking quite as fierce as she probably hoped.

“Yeah.” Arya replied, her left hand going up to clasp her right shoulder automatically. “And Dad’s.” Arya put in needlessly, knowing that after nearly thirty years of marriage, her mother would likely recognise her father’s handwriting as fast as she would her own. “I thought it was nice. Kind of, reminding me I got the two of you looking over my shoulder.” Arya sent a smirk at her mother over said shoulder and Catelyn’s lip twitched.

“Don’t push it.” She warned with little menace.

Arya threw up her hands, conceding, before going back to her plate. “Nymeria.” She called to the wolf, sitting in the corner. “You want some?” She asked, holding out a bit of her breakfast meat.

Her mother had opened her mouth to chastise her for her lack of table etiquette when Catelyn noted that Nymeria didn’t move an inch and continued to steadfastly look at the wall, away from Arya.

“Oh come on! Don’t sulk! It’s very unbecoming!” She threw in sarcastically. When she continued to be ignored, Arya huffed and returned the meat to her plate. “Suit yourself then!”

Catelyn just looked at her daughter questioningly before Arya grudgingly explained. “She’s pouting with me because I left her.”

Catelyn fought the smile that battled to rest on her face. She’d always thought it was so cute how the children spoke about the wolves as though they were people; though, as they got older, she had to admit that the relationships they had were far more complex than that of just a simple owner and pet.

“She seemed fine last night.” Catelyn edged, still trying to force the corner of her lips down.

“Well, she was happy to see me yesterday. It’s worn off now and she’s remembered that I…abandoned her here.” Arya put in forlornly, staring at her pet guiltily who was still sitting facing away from her owner, so still that she almost looked stuffed.

Catelyn put a consoling hand on her daughters that was wrapped tightly around her fork. “She’ll come around. She’s a big softy really.”

Nymeria let out a huff at that which somehow managed to sound like a denial.

“Hmmmm.” Arya put in with little hope. “At least someone’s happy to see me!” She stated loudly and pointedly at her pet.

“Indeed I am.” Catelyn put in, kissing her on the temple again, happy beyond measure that she was home. She always worried about Arya because somehow her youngest daughter and trouble seemed to be attracted to each other like a moth to the flame; her anxiety level had shot up to a whole new intensity when her daughter had fled to another continent. "I think you actually chose the perfect time to come home." Her mother said lightly, pressing her fingers tightly to her warm cup of tea.

"Because of Sansa's...thing?" Arya returned with a slight hesitation.

"Yes because of Sansa's news!" Her mother put in with a laugh before it crumpled slightly with concern. "And because of..."

"Because of?" Arya put in, agitated now at her mother’s concern.

Her mother took a long breath, placing her cup down. "I'm worried about Rickon."

"Rickon?" Arya asked, now able to take a breath after thinking the worst. "What's wrong with Rick?"

"He just...doesn't do anything. He's got no plans, no ambition, just sleeps in until midday then goes out drinking in the nights." Her mother said, the concern shining in her blue eyes.

"Some might say the same about me." Arya tried to placate with a bit of humour but it seemed her mother would not be discouraged so easily.

"But you were different. You came out of school and you knew you were going to invest in Hot Pie's business and the two of you worked hard together to get it going even if your Father and I weren’t thrilled with the idea at the time.” Catelyn edged, sniffing slightly in disdain. _‘Understatement Alert!’_ Arya thought drily. “Then you went travelling. Still not settling down, of course, but doing something. He just has no desire or want it seems to do _anything_." Her mother looked downhearted and Arya was at a loss of what to say. "Your father and I have tried to talk to him about it multiple times but he just throws his hands up and laughs it off or just leaves the room. I had Robb speak to him too but he didn't do any better. Bran just said he'll figure things out in his own time."

"Well, maybe Bran is right." Arya responded, knowing her little brother often was.

"I just want someone to talk to him and for him to actually _listen_." Her mother enthused, her hand gestures going erratic. "I was going to ask Jon when he got home but I think you would be even better. I genuinely think he'd listen to you."

Arya hesitated, not really wanting to get on her brother’s case on behalf of her Mother, remembering vividly how much she had hated it when Robb, Jon or Sansa would be asked to do it to her. "It would appear a bit hypocritical wouldn't it? Preaching to him to get off his arse and figure things out when I'm going to be bumbling around here, not having a clue either."

"But you've never been aimless, Arya. You're up at the crack of dawn training, going for a run, using the gym, and whatever else it is you do and you've been that way since you were what? Fifteen? You might not know where you're going exactly but you have direction and you always have. That's all I want for him. I don't expect him to figure out his life instantly, just for him to care about something, do something, anything." Her mother’s eyes were wide as she looked at her beseechingly and she could feel herself begin to waver. She looked back down at her plate, mulling it over as she felt her mother’s stare boring into the side of her head, clearly desperate.

She let out a semi-resentful groan. "I'm not promising anything!"

Her mother let out a gleeful squeal, clapping her hands together happily before wrapping them around Arya's shoulders. “Thank you, My Sweet.” Catelyn mumbled into her hair, finishing off by pressing some quick fire kisses there.

“Yeah, yeah.” Arya mumbled and looked away though her mother spied the colour rising in her cheeks.

Catelyn smiled and gave Arya her space, knowing how much her youngest daughter hated people seeing the warmth beneath her ice.

Arya grabbed the meat off of her plate with her fingers again and walked over to Nymeria, trying to coax her with the delicious food.

“Sure you don’t want it?” Arya cajouled, going so far as to ‘accidentally’ bop Nymeria’s nose with the succulent meat. The wolf’s nostrils flared and she let out a small whine but turned her head even further away from Arya. “Oh, alright then. If you’re sure. Come here Shaggydog. Who’s a good boy?”

The great, black wolf belonging to the youngest Stark jumped up quickly and began to amble towards the treat being offered to him when Nymeria’s large head turned sharply and snatched to food quickly from Arya’s fingers, gnawing on it loudly though it did not cover up Shaggydog’s outraged whine and small growl.

“Oh, look who’s back in the game!” Arya teased, petting the fur at Nymeria’s neck roughly. Nymeria tried to retain her dignity and walk away but Arya climbed on top of the animal with a smile, attempting to pin her to the floor. “Oh no, no, no. Where do you think you’re going?” Arya said slyly, having pinned Nymeria on her back and batted away her flaying paws easily despite the small scratches blooming on her arms and legs.

“I really do give up.” Her mother said, exasperated but with a smile as she carried the freshly folded laundry from the room.

Arya play fought with Nymeria for a moment or two longer before her phone began to chirp. She jumped up, making her way over to the table to check the screen before answering.

“Any news?” She asked without any preamble.

 _“No more cultured **or** polite.”_ Olenna put in wryly on the other end of the phone.

“Hi Grams.” Arya put in mockingly, overly chipper. “Any news?”

Olenna let out a noise that Arya tended to associate with older woman attempting to keep in a laugh before she got down to business. _“Unfortunately, no. My contacts have come back empty with Shae Mellario from Norvos.”_

“Nothing interesting?” Arya asked, disappointed with the news as her gut was telling her something was not right with this person.

 _“No, not ‘nothing interesting’, nothing at all.”_ Olenna answered.

Arya’s brows scrunched at that. “Is that normal?”

 _“Not for the people I use dear. They’re not cheap for a reason.”_ Olenna put in haughtily.

Arya considered it for a moment before speaking. “Could you ask them to check into Ibben instead of Norvos?”

 _“What makes you think that will make a difference?”_ Olenna questioned.

“It’s just that her accent is a little off. I didn’t notice it at first but the longer I listen to her the more it seems she slips from time to time. I’ve heard her on the phone as well speaking Valyrian to someone or other. She’s not said anything interesting yet, unfortunately, but, again, the dialect is a bit off, the variations more common further east.”

 _“Hmmmm.”_ Olenna intoned, sounding just a little impressed. _“I’m not even certain of what’s in Ibben.”_

“Nothing much.” Arya answered. “Despite its size it’s a fairly modest whaling community. Not nearly glamorous enough for our Shae, I reckon.”

There was a long pause on the other end before Olenna spoke again. _“I’ll have my people look into it immediately.”_

“Good.” Arya replied, hearing her mother coming back down the stairs. “Keep me posted and I’ll do the same.”

_“Agreed.”_

“Got to go.” Arya put in quickly, snapping the phone shut and smiling at her mother as she entered.

*~*~*

Jon Snow did not consider himself to be a soft man. He most certainly did not consider himself to be the sort of man who giggled but it seemed that Daenerys Stormborn did not care about these things as she lay on top of him, naked, and peppering quick kisses to his neck and chest, drawing less than manly chuckles from his mouth. He finally managed to roll her over and scraped his beard on the tender spot between her shoulder and neck and she finally conceded, giving up the fight.

Jon threw his head down on the pillow next to her head and breathed deeply, closing his eyes, content.

"It was really nice to meet your family." She said softly, rolling him off of her and grabbing his arm, making it curl around her while pillowing her head on his chest. "You can see how much they love you. And your Mum! You'd think you were still in the crib, the amount she dotes on you. It's so cute!"

Jon put on a fake scowl and held her tighter. “No it’s not. It’s…manly and…rugged.” He turned to her slightly, raising his eyebrow comically, making her burst out laughing.

“It was really nice to see.” She started when she finally caught her breath. “I did kind of wonder…” Dany trailed off.

Jon turned towards her, feeling the skin of his shoulder grow hotter where her face was pressed to it as her body tensed. “Kind of wonder if I’m really treated the same as everyone else?” He asked, rolling his shoulder up in an attempt to make her look at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to actually say that out loud but yeah, I suppose I did need to see for myself that you’re loved like you should be.” Daenerys enthused earnestly, making Jon’s cheeks bloom slightly too.

“And?” He queried.

“It’s obvious how much you all love each other. It’s amazing to see. It was particularly heart melting to see you with Catelyn.” Dany said, turning her big, eyes towards him.

“Yeah.” He replied, running his hand lazily up and down her arm. “She’s always treated me just the same…maybe even slightly better.” He laughed, hesitating slightly to say any more. “That’s probably a little bit of…guilt though.”

“Guilt?” Dany questioned, confused.

“Yeah. Because of the whole…situation.” Jon edged nervously.

Jon listened to the silence that followed for a moment before looking down at Dany, still pressed to his side but looking up at him with a confused expression on her face when he realised that he’d never really told her in any explicit detail about his birth.

“But I suppose I’ve not told you about all that yet have I?” Jon asked rhetorically.

“Mmmmmmm.” Dany non-replied.

“Well, I’m sure by now you’ll have noticed that I don’t have the same surname as the other’s and that there’s only a couple of moons in age between my _big brother_ and I?”

“Obviously.” Dany murmured into his chest and he could feel her eye roll because of her eyelashes tickling the skin of his ribs, making him smile.

“Well, you know my mother…my birth mother’s name was Ashara Dayne?” He asked, feeling her nod against his side. “She was from Starfall originally but came to Winterfell for a placement year at university where she met my Dad.” He started to trail his fingers along the forearm slung across his middle, making Dany grip him tighter in response. “Well, they were together for about a year or so, maybe a bit more; my Mum even opted in to stay an extra year up North to be with him. They were talking about her officially transferring to finish up her degree when my Dad met my Mother.” Jon paused slightly, feeling strange telling this story to someone. His whole life, either people had already known the details of his parental situation or didn’t request specifics…not that Dany had pushed him to tell her now but she was going to be his wife; she should know the ins and outs.

“Catelyn was visiting Winterfell for some big swimming competition, representing Riverrun. I think her and my Dad met at some coffee shop or something and just…clicked. I don’t know. My Dad always said he just knew that he’d found his mate.” Jon had never particularly understood the answer when he had been younger but when he had seen Daenerys for the first time in the desert, covered in grime and red raw from the merciless Astapori sun, his father’s words had jumped into his mind and he thought maybe it did make sense after all. “Anyway, my Dad told my Mum that he was sorry but he’d met someone else so she left, went back to Starfall and a few months later, Mother and Dad were married and expecting Robb. Robb was a couple of months old when my grandfather showed up at Winterfell with a new born me in his arms; it was the first Dad or Mother had even heard of my existence.” He took a moment before he continued and Dany let him without comment, snuggling deeper into his embrace. “My grandparents were…completely heartbroken. Ashara died giving birth to me and their son, Arthur, had died not too long before so they were really not in the place to look after me and really angry at my Dad too. **‘For dishonouring her and making her die baring his bastard’** or words to that affect.” Dany lifted her head at that, raising her hand to his face, stroking his jaw with her thumb. “No, no it’s fine. They were grieving and angry and…not necessarily wrong.” He clasped her hand and shook his head when she opened her mouth to argue. “It’s fine. I came to terms with it ages ago.”

“So, it turned out that when my Mum found out she was pregnant, she debated on whether she should tell my Dad or not. She knew she wanted him to be a part of my life but she was still heartbroken over how things ended so she didn’t let him know right away. She also didn’t want him to leave Mother to be with us since she knew he loved Mother more than her; she knew my Dad would have done the honourable thing. She spoke to my Dad’s brother, Brandon, when she was about halfway through her pregnancy with me, thinking that she had to tell Dad, even if she planned on refusing any offers he made to marry her but then Uncle Brandon told her that Dad was married and expecting with Mother and she decided she couldn’t do it. She would have told him about me after I was born, I think, but she died before she had the opportunity. I only found all this out years later from her sister, Allyria.”

“So you speak to her side of the family now then?”

“Yeah.” He answered, shaking his head slightly, the question breaking him from his reverie. “Yeah, we’re actually quite close. I try to visit them a couple of times a year and speak to them quite regularly. It took them a couple of years to get over their grief enough to look at me but they have been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember.”

“Hmmmm.” Dany nodded into his chest and said nothing else.

“What?” Jon asked, looking down at the platinum crown of her head.

“What?” She asked, looking up at him with wide violet eyes.

“You want to ask something.” He stated.

She shook her head at first but as he continued to look at her she huffed and hesitantly asked, “Well, it’s just that, if Robb is a moon or two _older_ than you doesn’t that mean that there was kind of…an overlap between your Mother and your Mum.”

His face twisted a bit at that and he hesitated. “Well, Robb was born prematurely. Really underweight and small. You should see the pictures; tiny! They were actually worried that he might not survive. I was also a couple of weeks late according to Aunt Allyria so I believe that I was…conceived before Robb was but I couldn’t comment on any overlap. There could have still been one but Dad and Mother have never expressly stated one way or the other _exactly_ how things happened and we’ve never asked. I know my Dad would tell me if I asked which would be fine if there wasn’t one but if there was…I’m not sure how I would feel about it. It doesn’t really change anything either way, I suppose. Ashara is dead and from the impression I get from my Grandparents and Aunt, she would have wanted me and my father to get along and have been happy that Catelyn treated me as if I were her own blood.” Jon nodded his head a little bit, still unsure but believing it in his heart to be true. Dany was looking at him steadfastly and he shook himself from his thoughts and went back to the original point. “So that’s why I think Mother sometimes feels a bit guilty. If my Mum had told my Dad she was pregnant when she had found out, he probably would have left Catelyn before they realised she was pregnant too. He would have put his honour before his happiness, married my Mum and Catelyn would have been left alone, dishonoured, and Robb would have been the one born a bastard. It could have easily gone either way and I’ve always had the impression she’s very aware of that fact.”

“That’s quite a complicated family history.” Dany declared after a moment, tracing a scar on the base of his ribs idly.

“Nothing compared to yours.” He stated stoically before they both started to laugh. “No, they’re a good bunch down at Starfall. My little cousin, Edric, was in love with Arya when we were younger.” Jon laughed, his eyes glazed as he thought back on something or other that he found humorous around the topic.

“That’s cute. Did she like him back?”

"No. She let him down gen...as gently as Arya is able. She...she never really had crushes when we were kids that I remember. Not like Sansa who would fall in and out of infatuations faster than anyone could keep track of, even Mother. When Arya became a teenager and showed just as little interest in guys we started to wonder..." Jon broke off, a flush spreading to his cheeks in embarrassment, "if maybe she wasn't into guys. I think Mother possibly started to think that maybe one day she would bring home a girl; I thought she could have possibly been asexual but then, just to shove it in everyone's faces, she introduced everyone to Gendry about the time Sansa re-introduced Margaery to the family as her girlfriend. Both took everyone a little by surprise. Typical Arya!"

"So how was he received? I couldn't help but notice a...tension in the air." Dany edged carefully.

Jon started to fidget in discomfort. "I'm ashamed to say...not the best. I was...I was just so taken aback when she brought a bloke home…well, anyone really. I wasn't prepared for it so I was a bit...hostile towards him."

She lifted herself up slightly to assess him at that, unable to picture it, especially after seeing the two of them interacting with each other. "I can't see that. You seem so friendly with him now. What changed?"

He continued to look awkward and didn't say anything for a long moment while she lifted her head to look at him with an expectant eyebrow. "Should there not be a limit of how many serious family-related conversations we can have in one night?"

Dany waited.

Jon sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Okay, well...it's not a particularly pleasant story but...a few years ago, Sansa, Bran, Rickon and Arya were in a car accident. It was really bad. Arya didn't wake up for a solid fortnight and Bran...Bran was paralysed-"

"Seriously! Bran was cutting a rug all night! I didn't see him sit down once all night!"

"Yeah, well, that was a long road to recovery that included a lot of expensive, painful and experimental procedures. He worked hard for it but he was extremely lucky too. But yeah, Sansa was...absolutely inconsolable that first couple of days that Bran and Arya wouldn't wake up because she was driving. Meera and Bran had been together for about a year at that point and Sansa and Arya both had been with Margaery and Gendry for about half a year a piece. Well, Margaery got a phone call to come up from Highgarden, Meera got called up from Greywater Watch but Gendry..."

"No one called him?" Dany asked confused. "Why not?"

"No one approved of him. I didn't care that he was lowborn or that he didn't come from a good family or that he was a mechanic but I did care that a Two-and-Twenty year old was dating my Eight-and-Ten year old sister...my only recently graduated from school, Eight-and-Ten year old sister. On top of that, I was a complete mess that half of my family was in the hospital."

Dany said nothing.

"You don't approve?" Jon asked though it wasn't really a question.

"It's...well...I don't have siblings so maybe I just see it differently but...I don't think stuff like that really matters." Dany stated, clearly trying not to sound judgemental.

"Well, you're more mature today than I was at that age." Jon replied simply.

"...or now." Dany smirked to diffuse the tension.

"Well, it was a pretty weird situation. Mother kind of hated Meera. She loved her before she was Bran's girlfriend but...well, as much as everyone jokes about how I'm the favourite, Bran is special to Mother so no one he liked would have been good enough. Everyone else treated her the same after they got together as they did before so she got a call, even if it wasn’t from my Mother. Sansa had only recently become involved with Margaery but she had been around for a couple of years as her friend so, even though some of us were still a bit thrown by the fact that she had a girlfriend suddenly, Robb made the call. I was...not thinking. About anyone or anything other than the fact that two of my younger siblings were unconscious and we didn't know when or if they were going to wake up and a sister so ridden with guilt she couldn't even speak."

"And I do get that. It's just that...if a couple of people were making calls, it would have been simple to dial one more number. And Gendry actually would have lived in Winterfell at the time, yes?" Dany put forward logically.

"I'm not justifying it. Of course it was wrong. It was so horrible when Margaery showed up the next day and asked _“Where's Gendry?”_ then I realised. I felt like such a piece of shit about it."

Dany just stroked his chest lightly in an attempt to get him to calm down. She wasn't judging and she knew that Jon didn't take it that way; they always had an open dialogue, that's how they worked as a couple.

"But yeah, once Arya woke up and I could think again I took Gendry aside and apologised because anyone could see how distraught he was when he made it to the hospital. We were fine after that and I tried to stick up for him a bit more in front of the others because he was being judged on things that he couldn't help and were pretty moot anyway. He was good for Arya too. He gave as good as he got from her and that's no easy task."

"It most certainly is not." She agreed as she snuggled deeper into his embrace. "Why did they break up?"

"She cheated on him."

"What?! No way!" Dany shrieked, disbelieving.

"That's what she told us." He replied, unaffected.

"But you don't believe that?" Dany asked perceptively.

"Like I said, I'd never seen her interested in anyone before him. I don't see her throwing it away on some nameless, faceless bloke whom she didn't even end up with afterwards."

"I don't see it either." She proclaimed, shaking her head, making her soft platinum hair tickle his chest. "So then what happened?"

"She went off of the rails a bit, drinking far too much to try to forget about it and pushing all of us away, angry that we had made things harder for the two of them. She kind of hit a rock bottom just after Gendry left to take this apprenticeship down south. She had started to pull herself together though for Sansa and Margaery's wedding and then one morning she was just gone. Braavos; just like that, without a word. She didn't leave on the best of terms with our parents, Robb or Sansa who I think were the least welcoming of Gendry. Mother and Dad saw her a couple of times the last couple of years but Robb and Sansa hadn't so I was...relieved for how things went at the party."

"There...still seems to be feelings there?" Dany approached carefully and Jon knew she was back to Gendry.

Jon just made a noncommittal grunt, not sure how to reply.

*~*~*

Grey Wind's booming bark started to sound before Sansa even made it out of the car, demanding to be let out. Sansa heaved open the boot of Robb’s large Land Rover and immediately, Grey Wind bounded out, followed a lot more elegantly by his significantly smaller sister. Lady had always been smaller than the others in her pack so it was easy to forget just how big she was compared to other dogs and that she could be perceived as frightening to other people. For example, the Tyrells had never been a pet-family. Margaery had had a cat for a couple of years in her early teens when her brothers had started to leave home but it had run away and no one had felt compelled to get another. When Margaery had first met Lady, she had looked so scared, climbing on the sofa to get away from her which was not much of a deterrent considering Lady was of a height with Margaery when she stood up on her hind legs. It was obviously hilarious but Margaery had looked so genuinely fearful that Sansa hadn’t had it in her to take the piss out of her friend about it…well, not straight away at least. _‘I think she prefers Lady to me sometimes now.’_ Sansa thought with humour, noting the numerous times that she came home to find the two of them cuddled up on the sofa or the fact that Lady was always welcomed back from walks before Sansa was. 

Grey Wind bounded off like a furry cannon ball along their normal route while Lady raced after him, an equally fast, fuzzy bullet. Sansa enjoyed this time, just her and Robb. Normally one Stark or another would join them but they’d meet up an hour early to catch up just the two of them first.

"So, I haven't really had a chance to speak to you since Jon's party." Robb started, his deep voice soothing as ever as they followed their pets at a more sedate pace. "And I didn't really get a chance to speak to you at all after your...announcement."

"No, we didn't." Sansa agreed, waiting for more as it sounded like he was building up to something.

"Are you sure you’re ready for this, Sans?" Robb put in, looking at her earnestly.

"Yes. Robb, we've been building up to this for ages.” Sansa smiled but became curious when Robb didn’t return the smile, still looking concerned. “Why are you asking me this now?"

"It's just...are you sure the two of you are ready for this...as a couple?" Robb edged carefully.

"Robb!" Sansa exclaimed, starting to get annoyed. "Margaery and I have been married for nearly two years."

"Myrcella and I have been married for four years and we're not rushing into having kids."

" _Rushing_?" Sansa repeated, feeling her face bloom an angry, unattractive red, as her feet stopped moving.

Robb stopped moving in response and took a deep breath. "Not _rushing_. Shit, sorry. That was the wrong word. What I meant was, how long you've been together, doesn't necessarily make you ready to be a parent."

"I agree; it's not a formula. Which is why, the fact that I've been married for half the time that you have, doesn't mean that I'm half as ready to be a parent." Sansa argued back, crossing her arms defensively, hearing the slight shuffle of vegetation as Grey Wind and Lady returned, darting back to their owner’s sides.

Robb nodded his head whilst turning it to the ground, seemingly conceding the point. "Okay, but-"

"Robb, you can't really use you and Myrcella as a gage for this conversation because Myrcella doesn't even want kids." Sansa put in diplomatically, purposefully taking a breath before she said it so that it didn’t come out sounding angry or vindictive.

Myrcella had made it clear to Robb, before they even got betrothed, that she did not see herself ever wanting children. Her parents were no example of how a child should be treated and she'd never felt that pang of wanting her own kids the way that other women spoke about it. When Robb had first come to her and told her this, Sansa had been concerned. Robb had never expressed a want to have children as they had grown up but he was always so good with children that she just sort of assumed he would want them. _'Who wouldn't want kids of their own?'_ Robb had just said that kids weren't a vital part of any future he had mapped out for himself but Myrcella was and that was that. He said he would be perfectly content to spoil any nieces or nephews that the others gave him and be grateful for the opportunity but now that Sansa was trying to supply him with said niece or nephew, he was trying to put her off.

"Yeah, I know but what I'm saying is...you can take your time. Enjoy just being married for a while longer. Kids are going to change things so much for you. And you guys don't even have to worry about getting too old or anything because your eggs have already been taken." Robb put in, starting to get agitated.

Sansa took a breath and looked at him long and hard, surveying his nearly panicked expression. "Is this about your...donation?" Sansa asked quietly.

"What? No." He argued, a confused expression on his face before he stepped up to her quickly, grabbing her shoulders, his face turning determined. "No! It's not that, Sansa."

"Because you don't have to donate." She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "We could just take yours out. There's still time to-"

"Sansa!" Robb interrupted, giving her shoulders a slight shake. "It's not that. I promise." He entreated before giving up at her downhearted expression and just pulled her into his solid embrace.

She brought her hands up to his back and gripped his jacket tightly in her fingers. He brushed his fingers through her hair soothingly, his apologies rumbling into her ears through his chest.

"It's just that, you seem so young to be doing this. We're all too young to start having kids of our own and all that."

"We're not _that_ young, Robb." Sansa intoned, into the lamb skin of his jacket. Realising that his freak out was all his and nothing to do with her.

"I guess we’re not anymore." He conceded dully.

They held each other few moments longer before Robb finally stepped back, stroking Sansa cheek with his index finger. "Gods, I hate being old." He put in with little enthusiasm.

"I know." Sansa consoled, reaching up to rub his back. "But you're not as old as you'll be tomorrow, so seize today."

Robb looked at her with a raised eyebrow, studying her curiously. "When did you get so wise?" He asked incredulous.

"I teach." She deadpanned, bringing her shoulders up in a blasé shrug.

"Oh, of course." He replied seriously but with a wide smile on his face. He put his arm around her shoulders and began to walk again. "So, Shae. She seems...nice." Robb edged, carefully.

"Yeah, she's...an acquired taste I suppose. But I don't care. She's having our baby for us. She can be whatever flavour she bloody well wants to be."

Robb laughed at her enthusiasm and bit his lip with a mischievous smirk. "Myrcella didn't like her." Robb stated and Sansa laughed. _'He's such a gossip! Worse than Old Nan was, honestly.'_

"Hmmmm." Sansa put in sarcastically with an excessive thinking face. "Probably has something to do with the fact that she didn't stop salivating over you all night."

Robb smiled coyly and shrugged his shoulders, obviously flattered, even though he'd never admit it.

"Where'd you meet her?" Robb asked conversationally as he picked up a stick to throw for the dogs.

“Ummmm…” Sansa hesitated, trying to buy some time to think on her answer. Robb looked at her curiously but without expectation and she knew she couldn’t fib, omit or put off as she had done thus far. “Online.” She let out on a breath, waiting for his reaction.

“Online?” He asked.

“Yes, online.” She answered, nearly before he’d finished speaking.

“Isn’t that a little…seedy?” He asked, his face showing that he was at least trying to be delicate even though he was failing tremendously.

“ _Seedy_?” She repeated, not liking his adjective one bit.

“I just mean, it’s not really natural is it? It lacks synergy.”

“Robb, people find spouses online nowadays. Finding a surrogate for our baby is definitely less _seedy_ than that…”

“Forget _seedy_ , okay? I just wonder why you couldn’t have done it the old-fashioned way.”

“Tell me big brother, what is the old fashioned way for finding a surrogate to carry a babe for two married women?” Sansa asked, snarkily.

Robb bit his lip to cover his smile as Sansa smirked cheekily back at him in victory. “Point conceded. I suppose you don’t really just wander into the gym or something and say to the girl in front of you, _‘Nice hips. Very child bearing. Would you like to carry a babe for me by any chance?’_ ” Sansa laughed and agreed.

“Yes, I think that’s a sure-fire way to get banned from the gym.” Sansa chuckled as Robb helped her down a drop to their regular path.

“I mean, fair play though, these women that do this for complete strangers for no reason other than just to be nice, it takes some balls…or, ovaries maybe would be the more appropriate term.” Robb laughed at his own joke. _‘It’s nice that someone does.’_ Sansa thought fondly.

“Well, she doesn’t do it for nothing, obviously.” Sansa edged, hoping Robb wasn’t really _that_ naïve.

Robb paused for a long moment, looking at her vacantly. “What do you mean?”

“Robb, we pay her.” Sansa enunciated clearly, watching as Robb’s brow twisted in confusion.

“Pay her?”

“Yes Robb, we pay her to do it. Like you said, why would anyone do it for free?”

“I just… I meant it was really generous! I didn’t realise people actually did it for money. That’s so…” He stopped himself, Sansa staring with an icy glare, clearly daring him to say _seedy_ again. “…bizarre.”

“She’s giving up ten months to a year of her life. She’s moving up here so she can be close throughout the process. Did you really think she was going to get a job for six months until she has to go on maternity leave anyway?” Sansa asked, not for the first time wondering how someone as clever as Robb could be so dumb sometimes.

“I guess I never really thought about it. To be fair, Sans, this _is_ a fairly recent development.” He put in and she had to concede that point with a nod.

“Fair enough.” She said, and they walked on for a few moments in silence, watching the dogs bark as they chased a squirrel.

“So…how much?” Robb pushed with a raised eyebrow.

“How much, what?” Sansa replied, raising a dubious eyebrow in response to his own.

“How much does being a surrogate go for nowadays?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Why not? I’m all curious now.”

“Well, we’ll see if your curiosity will last you the drive home and inspire you to do a google search.” She answered, unaffected by his wheedling tone. He laughed as they broke through the clearing, the snow reflecting a dizzily bright white back at them. “I will tell you this though.” She dangled the carrot in front of him, waiting for him to turn his head and sniff.

“What?”

“We got a bargain.” Sansa laughed and it echoed in the empty space, Robb’s joining her a second later.

*~*~*

Sansa wearily put her key in the door, dying for a cup of tea to chase away the chill of the walk while Lady nudged at the door impatiently. She finally got her fingers to coordinate and the door swung open, Lady racing in ahead of her.

She was about to pass through the doorway into the living room when she heard Margaery. "Hello there, Beautiful." Sansa passed under the open arch to the living room and, as suspected, Margaery was not speaking to Sansa, her arms already wrapped around Lady's neck, fingers pressed deep into the fur of her scruff, massaging. "There's my good girl." Margaery cooed, using her _Lady-voice_ and Sansa wondered idly, with a smile, if she would use the same voice when talking to the babe.

"Why do _I_ not get such an enthusiastic greeting?" Sansa asked, mock pouting as she hung up her coat.

"She licks my face." Margaery replied, as if it were obvious, a wicked smirk on her face.

"Oh." Sansa started, coming around back of Margaery where she sat on the sofa. "If I'd known that's all it took..." She whispered huskily into Margaery's ear before pressing soft, wet kisses along her neck and shoulders, letting her tongue taste her skin. Margaery shivered and twisted her fingers harshly in Sansa's hair to twist her head, their mouths just about to meet...

"Hello!" Shae's voice tinkled from the doorway as she entered, making Sansa leap back quickly from the sofa, looking guilty and flushed. "I didn't realise you were back." She drawled, her enthusiasm severely diminished upon seeing Lady, still pressed near Margaery's legs, who somehow managed to look equally as thrilled to see her.

 _‘I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live with anyone but Marge…or that there’s actually someone living with us now.’_ Sansa thought to herself while Margaery let out a small laugh to cut the tension, petting Lady in an attempt to distract from her obvious dislike of their new houseguest.

"I would like to talk to the both of you." Shae declared with little emotion on her face.

Sansa looked to Margaery nervously but she just continued to look steadfastly at Shae. "Oh?"

"Yes. Please sit, Sansa." Shae said, gesturing with her hand at the empty seat next to Margaery, between Shae and Lady, while she sat in the armchair. On any other day, Sansa might incredulously have noted someone offering her a seat in her own home but the tone of Shae's voice had made her nervous.

Sansa made her way around the sofa quickly, sitting next to Margaery, her back ramrod straight, only relaxing slightly when Margaery put her hand over her own and Lady jumped up to lay her body over Margaery's lap and her head in Sansa's.

"I've had some news from back home, in Norvos." Shae started, beginning to look choked up, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, as though trying to stop the escape of her sobs. "My mother has become very sick."

"Oh." Sansa started, her mouth an 'O' of surprise. "Shae, I'm sorry."

"I must return home to look after my younger siblings." Shae stated dispassionately.

"What?" Margaery asked, her voice devoid of the sympathy Sansa's had held.

"I'm sorry. I don't like having to so this to you but my siblings, they need me. I need to go home so that I can look after them and get a job straight away so I can get some coins together for the treatment that my Mother will need."

"But...but..." Sansa choked out. "We already told everyone." Sansa said, not sure why, of all the desperate thoughts flying through her head, _that_ was the one she chose to verbalise.

"I _am_ sorry." Shae put in with her eyes downcast. "I just need coins to start paying for treatment, now."

"We said we'd pay you half of your fee when you get pregnant and the rest at the end." Margaery put in, stoically.

"I know. The treatment will just cost more than that. And she could need more treatment after the first." Shae, implored, brown eyes wide.

Shae sat there for a moment, just staring back at them. Sansa vaguely registered Margaery's hand rubbing across her back but didn't seem to feel it.

When Shae made to stand, it all felt so horribly final that it burst the bubble of Sansa's numbness.

"Wait. We could pay you more." Sansa let out desperately.

"Sansa!" Margaery snapped, incredulity thick in her tone.

"What? We have more coin tucked away." Sansa argued, undisturbed.

"That's for the actual babe..." Margaery started but then took a breath and looked back at Shae. "Could you give us a moment?"

"We don't need a moment." Sansa retorted, stubbornly. "How much would you need to stay?"

Shae seemed to ponder it for a moment before she blew out an exasperated breath. "It would be too much for you to just give-"

"How much?" Sansa interrupted.

Shae nodded her head back and forth as though struggling to come up with a figure off of the top of her head. "It would be close to...double our agreed fee." Shae's eyes were wide and glassy with unshed tears.

Margaery let out a noise that sounded an awful lot like a scoff and buried her head in her hands, rubbing her fingers over her forehead in agitation.

"Done." Sansa stated solemnly.

Margaery's head flicked up, her expression one of sheer disbelief. "Sansa!" Her voice was angry, Sansa’s name from her lips clearly indicating a warning.

"We can do that. The embryo transfer is booked for two weeks’ time. Half still once you get the positive test and the other half once the babe is born."

Margaery began to open her mouth to argue but Sansa turned her back to her, instead opening her arms to Shae who was now smiling widely, some tears falling over her tanned cheeks as she stepped gratefully into Sansa’s embrace. Shae was pressing a string of desperate thanks against Sansa’s shoulder when she heard Margaery storm out the front door, the door slamming loudly as Lady whined anxiously.

*~*~*

Sansa was starting to get worried about Margaery. She'd been gone for hours now and missed dinner entirely.

Her last two phone calls had rung out and gone to voicemail. She picked up the phone to call her one more time when she heard the front door being closed and the recognisable clunk of the locks.

She put the phone back on the bedside unit, picking up her book to make it look as if she hadn't been waiting up for Margaery's return, flicking her hair over her shoulder and smoothing it down nervously.

A few moments later, Margaery entered the room. She refused to look in Sansa's direction even though Sansa was quite deliberately trying to catch her eye. Margaery snatched her pyjamas from her side of the bed and turned towards the en-suite door.

"Hey." Sansa ventured, somewhat shakily but was only met with the resounding thud of the bathroom door being slammed.

Sansa blew out an exasperated breath and threw the book back down in defeat.

She hated when she and Margaery fought. They didn't fight often, not even after two years of marriage, so she felt just as much at a loss now as she had when they had had their first ever fight. Sansa also didn't really understand why they were fighting. They had been presented with a problem and she offered a solution.

Sansa continued to ponder the situation for the next ten minutes, hearing various thuds and slams as Margaery went through her nightly routine with more gusto than usual. There was a moment of silence after the din; she could make out the shadow of Margaery's feet under the door so presumed she was taking a moment to calm herself before she emerged.

When Margaery came into the room, the first thing she did was turn the lights off on her side of the room, then stomped over to the bed, sitting with her back to Sansa as she took off her jewellery.

Margaery was struggling with the clasp of one of her bracelets when Sansa shimmied over slightly on the bed before reaching out to lay a hand on Margaery's back, caressing along her spine for only a split second before Margaery's back tensed and she stood promptly, turning to Sansa, her anger easy to read on her face.

"I can't believe you did that." Margaery choked out, pressing her fingers to her lips as though she was praying to remain calm.

"Did what?" Sansa asked pitifully.

"Did wh...Are you seriously telling me that I've been gone for five hours and you couldn't think of a single fucking reason why I might be upset?!" Margaery asked, her incredulity bordering on manic.

"I...I know that you would have preferred to talk about it but she was going to leave! We didn't have time to ponder." Sansa tried to reason with her wife, scooting across the bed in an attempt to grab Margaery's hand but she pulled away from her as though her hand were a snake.

"We _did_ have time to ponder Sansa. Shae didn't have her bags packed with a taxi waiting outside to take her to the airport. We had time to discuss it together but you preferred to make the decision yourself, as always."

"As always?"

"Yes, _as always_!" Margaery snapped back.

"You...you don't like making decisions. You're so laid back." Sansa argued weakly, wondering how long this had been bubbling beneath the surface.

"Yes Sansa," Margaery started, a somewhat sardonic ring to her voice, "I am laid back…to a point. I don't really mind if you make decisions about where we go to eat or what we're going to get your brother for a Name Day gift. _Little_ decisions like that don't bother me but it was under the assumption that we are equal partners when it comes to the _big_ decisions."

"We are though-"

"No we're not! You completely steam rolled over me when I tried to speak like I was...like I was..." Margaery floundered in her rage.

"Insignificant?"

"Don't correct me Sansa! You always have to make bloody vocabulary suggestions! It's so annoying!" Margaery yelled, pressing her clenched fists to her forehead, turning around in agitation.

Sansa just lowered her head, feeling heat creep up her neck and had the horrible realisation that she felt like crying. She wished that in that moment she could be angry with Margaery too; that they could scream at each other, rant, rave and maybe kiss to break the tension before going back to normal. That's how the few arguments they had tended to go. But she wasn't angry at Margaery so couldn't shout at her; this was just making her sad.

Sansa bit her lip and tried again. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't say you're sorry when you're not, it's such a slap in the face." Margaery cut her off with little patience.

"But I _am_ sorry that you're upset-"

"But not for what you did?" Margaery guessed sardonically.

Sansa just looked down at the bed sheets, unable to argue. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing!" Margaery let out before seeming to deflate somewhat, her shoulders sagging and letting out a deep breath. "Nothing. I don't want to talk about this anymore, I don't want to hear your voice anymore and I don't want to look at you anymore so just go to sleep and I'll do the same." Margaery put her jewellery down on the nightstand before lying down, again presenting Sansa with her back, trying to settle under the blankets despite the tension in her muscles.

"Well, you have your opinion and I have mine." Sansa put in, trying to save face in an attempt to distract herself from crying, crossing her arms defensively while still trying to placate her wife.

"Yes but apparently it's only yours that matters." Margaery retorted quietly, sounding more defeated than Sansa thinks she'd ever heard her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I believe that I've revealed quite a few things about the Universe in this chapter that you didn't know before now.
> 
> Jon situation: Though I am a believer in R+L=J, not when he's shipped with Dany. It's really annoying that I read for the first time the other day that it has been confirmed by George R.R. himself that Jon is **older** than Robb! However, the skeleton and meat of the earlier chapters have been commit ed to screen for a long while now and I didn't want to change it all for such a minor detail...BUT I DO LOVE AND OBSESS OVER THE MINOR DETAILS!
> 
> And Arya and Gendry; what's their drama, right? Bits will be revealed as we go along but the only people who _know_ are them and their not in a particularly 'chatty' mood at the moment so patience required.
> 
> Anything else unclear or questions/comments, please feel free, I love them! And even though it interrupts the flow sometimes to explain the background and history in more detail and gets omitted, I like to think I have answers to most questions. Challenge Extended!
> 
> Thanks as always for continued readership and support!
> 
> *WC68*


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we finished off with a fight if y'all remember?
> 
> I won't keep you in suspence...
> 
> *WC68*

Rickon was sleeping soundly, warm and cosy in his bed, getting in a couple of hours sleep after drinks with the lads. He was quite happy to lay there for the next few hours until the afternoon but what he wasn't counting on, was...

**AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"Aaaaaaargh!" He yelled, his legs kicking wildly, covering his ears desperately with his pillow.

"Get up! Get up! GET UP!" Arya was yelling, intermittently pressing down on the fog horn that was painfully loud in the enclosed space of his room.

"What the fuck!?" He boomed before the mattress tipped suddenly, dropping him onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Move! Get up! Get your fucking arse in gear!" Arya shouted, pelting him in the face with something which he noted, half asleep, was some clothes.

**AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"What-"

"Put it on or you're running in your fucking boxers!" She screamed, pressing the horn in quick succession, now pushing him towards the door.

"Running?!" He asked incredulously, lifting up one foot to put the shorts on, knowing there was no point in arguing with Arya, either about going running in shorts through the snow or about going running at what he assumed was the crack of dawn. "What time-"

"Go, go, GO!" She screamed again, pushing him roughly towards the door while he was braced on one foot to put the shorts on, making him lose his balance and fall on his face before continuing with the horn.

**AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Rickon pushed himself back up wearily, putting on the clothes quickly with Arya now walking closely behind him, shepherding him down the stairs, the horns noise in the lobby echoing horrendously off of the marble. Shaggydog and Nymeria were circling at the base of the stairs, barking madly at the unknown noise. He was surprised that his parents hadn't come out to investigate the racket but he didn't have too long to mull it over because he felt his sister’s hands push him imperiously in the lower back, launching him into the front door, still screaming at him to "Get a fucking move on, Stark!"

Rickon opened the door speedily with a groan, feeling the dogs run past him and heard Arya slam the door firmly behind her.

_~1 Hour, 7 Minutes, 215 Swear Words and One Bout of Vomiting Later~_

Rickon could not tell which feeling ruled supreme; the burn in his thighs, the queasiness in his stomach or the lightness of his head but he didn't spend too much time thinking about it, instead choosing to collapse on the hard marble floor in the middle of the foyer, too tired to even brace properly for the impact. He just lay there in the silence, a flushed, sweating, gasping mess.

He heard Arya walk in behind him, calmly closing the door after the dogs came in. Shaggydog and Nymeria both passed by him on their way to the kitchen, panting loudly from their own exertion. Nymeria made her way passed him with very little ceremony but Shaggydog hesitated, snuffling his ear to assure himself that Rickon wasn't actually dead. Rickon let out a deep, agonised groan and Shaggydog seemed satisfied, following his sister into the kitchen to get some water.

"Well done little brother. You're completely out of shape, Old Nan could beat you in a 100 meter dash and you threw up all over yourself but you kept going ‘til the end." Arya bent down to 'pat' him soundly on the back in congratulations before walking passed him. He wanted to snark back at her that Old Nan was dead before he realised that _that_ was the point. "Hit the shower quick and come back down...I can smell Mother’s bacon and biscuits." His stomach roiled at the thought, noting with irritation that Arya wasn't even out of breath and looked dry as a bone as opposed to himself, fairly certain that there would be a pool of moisture on the marble floor whenever he could muster up the energy to move...which would be never.

*~*~*

"A bit more of a warning than _'Don't freak out, whatever you hear in the morning'_ wouldn't have gone a miss, Arya." Catelyn whispered to her harshly, eying the open doorway, waiting for Rickon to walk through. "You nearly gave your father and I a heart attack!"

"Oh. You're not _so_ old just yet." Arya teased, taking a breath from gulping down her glass of water. Ned smiled wryly behind his paper, holding it in such a way that Catelyn couldn't see as she huffed.

At that moment, a freshly showered Rickon stumbled in, walking stiffly as he took his seat on the bar stool with a grimace. His face finally cracked in relief when Arya put a large glass of ice water in front of him before ruffling his head of wet, shaggy, red hair.

Rickon grimaced slightly at the smell of the bacon on the heaped plate his mother put in front of him, shaking his head, his hair swinging like Shaggydog’s fur after a heavy rain. "Sorry Mother but...no bacon for me this morning."

"What's wrong with you, lad?" Their Dad piped up from his seat on the other side of the island. "Half the plate is normally empty before your Mother has even taken her hand away."

"I just need something a little less...greasy this morning, that's all. No offence, Mother." Rickon argued weakly.

"Eat the biscuits and I'll put some porridge on." Arya announced, turning to the cupboards without asking.

Rickon looked at her like she were an angel. "Perfect." He smiled gratefully, his face softening and Arya grinned back at him.

Ned and Catelyn raised impressed eyebrows at each other as they noted Arya’s strategy to give Rickon a bit of purpose, keen to see if it would pay off.

*~*~*

"Mother, you and Dad...you don't seem to argue much." Sansa edged carefully.

Catelyn stood up straight, brushing off her hands on her apron from the muffins she had just set in the oven. "We don't argue _too_ often, no." Catelyn agreed cautiously, knowing that there was inevitably a reason that Sansa was asking this now, out of the blue. "Your father is not quick to anger so it is quite rare that we argue but we disagree all the time." Catelyn edged carefully, uncertain.

Catelyn observed her eldest daughter run her fingertips over the rim of her tea cup, eyes staring off into empty space before snapping back to her own. "What was the worst argument that you and Dad ever had over?"

Catelyn let out a wary breath, considering the question as she wiped down the units. _'I don't think anyone needs that much insight into their parents relationship'_ Catelyn thought to herself, looking back to Sansa, her bright, blue eyes wide behind her glasses as she waited patiently for her Mother's answer. "What's bothering you, Sweetheart?" Catelyn asked with an encouraging smile.

Sansa huffed out a weary breath and did not answer straight away, instead glaring at her cup as she swivelled it on its saucer. Sansa looked at Arya who was sat at the kitchen table across the room, back towards them and headphones on as she listened to something or other, leant over the laptop, looking for career ideas. Sansa apparently deemed that her sister was sufficiently distracted and not listening because she turned back to her and said dejectedly, "Margaery and I argued."

"Oh." Catelyn let out, trying to inject the correct balance of surprise to sympathy with the cooing sound alone.

"We never argue. Never! I don't think we've even argued since we got married." Sansa lamented, looking upset, running an agitated hand over her forehead.

"Well, Sweetheart, sometimes couples need to argue to allow them to air out the grievances that have built up. You can't work to solve a problem unless you know what it is." Catelyn tried to placate with the wisdom of her own experience as she took a sip of tea.

"She was so angry with me." Sansa said softly, her eyes glassy and far away, likely reliving this disagreement in her head.

Even though her children were adults grown and mostly out of the nest, her firstborn even nearing his Thirtieth Name Day, the sight of one of her babies in such distress and despair still clutched at her heart like a vice. Catelyn quickly washed her hands free from the dough and flour residue on her fingers and made her way to her daughter, running her fingers through her light auburn hair as she took a seat on the barstool next to hers. "What did you argue about?" Catelyn asked, hoping she would be able to help with more information.

Sansa seemed to shake herself of out the melancholy pit she had been falling down at the question and a bit of colour bloomed on her cheeks. "I didn't even argue with her. _I_ wasn't angry." Sansa gave a shrug of her shoulders as she said it, as though convincing them both that that fact downgraded the disagreement somehow.

"Well, what did _she_ argue with _you_ about then?" Catelyn countered neutrally, giving her eldest daughter an encouraging look.

Sansa stalled, glancing around the room again, biting her lower lip and studying her cup as though considering making another cup of tea before answering. Catelyn patiently placed her hand on top of her daughters to get her attention, smilling a small reassuring smile. Sansa huffed, putting all further attempts at procrastination aside and finally answered. "Shae."

"Shae?" Catelyn prodded gently when Sansa offered no more.

"Her mother is sick. She told us last week. She just found out and now she thinks she needs to go home to look after her younger siblings." Sansa stated dismally.

“Okay.” Catelyn started, unsure. “How did that lead to an argument?”

“Well…we want her to stay so I said we’d pay her more for the surrogacy…so that she can afford her mother’s treatment.” Sansa stated matter-of-factly.

Catelyn raised her eyebrow at her daughter, now seeing where the argument came into the story. “Without discussing it with Margaery first?” Catelyn guessed with certainty.

“Oh, you’re judging.” Sansa snapped with a whining quality to her voice, pulling her hand away from her mother’s and brining it to her mouth, chewing on her thumbnail.

 _‘Oh gods, she must be upset if she’s doing that again.’_ Catelyn thought as she watched her daughter revert back to her childhood bad habit in front of her eyes. “I said nothing.” Catelyn responded calmly, holding up her hands in surrender.

“She was going to leave!” Sansa stated desperately. “This is the closest we’ve gotten in nearly two years to getting to this point! Did she really just expect me to roll over and do nothing?!” Sansa’s voice had a slightly manic pitch to it so Catelyn stood and put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders.

“No. That’s not what I said. But, the child will be both of yours, Sansa. You can’t make decisions like that alone.” Catelyn chided gently.

“There wouldn’t even be a possibility of child right now if we did things her way.” Sansa argued heatedly.

“But it doesn’t set a good precedent, Darling, if you’re taking these decisions into your own hands now without consulting her first. Will you, at least, concede that?” Catelyn asked neutrally, tilting her head downwards slightly whilst lifting her brows, bartering with her daughter.

Sansa looked down, grumbling in neither agreement nor disagreement so Catelyn decided to use another approach to coax some understanding from her.

"I remember when I first married your father and I made all of these…presumptions of where we would live and how many children we would have; even what we would name them." Catelyn looked off into the distance and gave a wry shake of the head, wondering how she had ever been so naïve and stubborn. "I certainly came down from that cloud pretty quickly. Your father was always quite willing to meet me halfway but I didn't really like to compromise; I didn't really see why I needed to. I had been used to having my own way for the most part up until that time in my life."

Sansa was now leaning in again, listening to her mother’s frank description of a nature very similar to Sansa's own. "But do you know what, Sansa? You never get anywhere without compromise. You can't move forward without it. You may think that the decision you made will move things along for you in terms of the babe but, as a couple, it won't. A marriage is like a three-legged race; you need to work together to get over the line." Catelyn advised.

Sansa smirked at her mother’s analogy but it died rather quickly as the shame bubbled up onto her face. “It’s been over a week! I thought we’d have moved passed it by now!” She admitted with frustration, shaking her head.

“There is no formula for these things, Sansa.” Catelyn refusted softly, eying her daughter carefully before speaking her next words. “Perhaps if you give her an apology with some depth…” Catelyn edged, watching her daughter’s gaze spin to her own but remain silent, “…she will be more eager to forgive?” Catelyn loved her daughter dearly but she was terrible at giving apologies; her resentment and the fact that she thought she was being generous by apologising, often transparent in her demeanour.

Sansa huffed out a breath, saying nothing, instead just looking down and studying her tea cup again.

Catelyn knew her daughter well enough to leave it alone for now so that Sansa could ponder on her own; if you pushed Sansa too hard she would dig her heels in and push right back so it was best to leave her to contemplate.

Catelyn stepped forward and placed a kiss on her daughter’s head, the thought that her eldest daughter was now grown, married and set to have a babe of her own, catching her unawares as it sometimes did.

"Would you like another cup of tea?" She asked as she stepped away.

"Mmmm." Sansa affirmed wordlessly.

"Arya?" Catelyn threw over her shoulder.

Silence.

"Arya?" Catelyn pushed again, turning to her daughter who was still bent over her laptop, headphones in. "Arya!?" Catelyn shouted. Arya's back straightened and she turned her head minutely to the side and pausing, face srunched, before going back to the computer.

"Oi!" Sansa piped up from the table, picking a grape from the fruit bowl and lobbing it at her sister, hitting her in the shoulder blade.

Arya jerked in her seat, pulling off her headphones and turning in her chair. "What?!" She demanded, looking directly at Sansa, likely knowing that her mother would never throw fruit at her to get her attention.

"Mother's talking to you!" Sansa stated, equally disgruntled, needing a vent for her frustration.

Arya threw a final glare at her older sister before turning her head expectantly at her mother, a far more neutral expression on her face.

“Cup of tea, Love?” Catelyn put in soothingly.

“Please.” Arya replied quietly, casting one more peeved look at Sansa before putting her headphones back on and focusing on her laptop again.

Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister with a mixed expression of superiority and frustration that is unique to older siblings while Catelyn tried not to checkle too obviously.

Sansa and Catelyn turned back to idle conversation as Catelyn made the tea, neither able to see the dark and calculating expression that had settled onto Arya's face as she continued to absently listen to their chatter through the silent headphones.

*~*~*

“Definitely the red.” Dany agreed, nodding her head eagerly as Myrcella spun around, adjusting the dress around her hips slightly.

“Yeah?” Myrcella checked, meeting Dany’s violet eyes over her shoulder. “Well, scarlet is a Lannister colour I suppose.” She laughed sardonically.

“Stormborn too.” Dany replied with a grin of her own.

Myrcella spun a couple more times before she nodded firmly. “Yes, I’ll get it.” She stepped back into the changing room but continued the conversation through the heavy curtain. “Thanks for coming with me, Dany. Shopping isn’t really the favoured activity of most of the females in our family circle. I normally go with Sansa but at the moment she’s so busy with work and now the surrogacy…”

“…and I’m unemployed and babe-less?” Dany put in with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“Well…” Myrcella smiled in return, a little awkwardly, not yet knowing her future good-sister enough to gage her reaction.

“It’s fine. I don’t plan on being that way for long.” She smiled reassuringly.

“What, job-less or babe-less?” Myrcella countered automatically, becoming alarmed at the long pause caused by Dany’s lack of response. She stepped out of the changing room with trepidation, gaze going straight to her Good-Sister to-be.

Dany was staring somewhat vacantly at the mannequin display in the changing room.

“Sorry…” Myrcella started.

“No, no. Job-less; I definitely don’t intend to stay that way for long. In terms of babes…” She turned around at that, silver hair swaying and a blankly detached look on her face. “I had a miscarriage a couple of years ago when my husband passed away. At the moment I don’t see me ever putting myself in that position again.”

“I’m really sorry.” Myrcella offered genuinely as she followed behind Dany to the tills.

“Thank-you. It’s not a secret or anything. Jon obviously knows and so does Arya. It is what it is.” Dany spoke with an eerie calm and Myrcella didn’t know whether she was impressed or concerned with her apathy on the topic of such personal tragedy.

They paid for their purchases before walking to a nearby coffee shop. The clangs and clutter rang loud with the bustle of so many eager customers, desperate from a warm beverage to ward off the Northern bite in the air. “So,” Dany started, sipping steadily from her steaming cup right away, not noticing Myrcella’s concerned expression at the lack of scalding, “how did you and Robb meet? Baratheons hail from further South if I remember correctly.”

“Yes. Baratheons are from Storm’s End originally but I’ve moved around with my Father for as long as I can remember. We moved to Winterfell when I was maybe, Four-and-Ten? I fell in with Sansa straight away and we were completely inseparable. Robb was older so he was in Uni when we got together but I was still in Winterfell Prep with Sansa and…my twin,” Myrcella paused, glowering for a moment before her face cleared, “and my brother Tommen too.”

Dany politely ignored the dark disposition when mentioning her twin. “Why did your family move to Winterfell? What brought them here?”

“My Father had wanted to get some tax saving that business’ got in the North. They’re meant for new, small business’ but Father exploited that loophole! My Mother followed him around, less than eagerly but did it all the same and then when the laws changed when I was Eight-and-Ten and they all prepared to go back down South I stayed.”

“Do you miss them at all?” Dany asked cautiously.

Myrcella thought about it for a second. “I miss my younger brother Tommen and my Uncles.” She said finally. “In the four years I had been here, Ned and Catelyn had been more parental to me than my own had in eighteen years; I was too content here to give it all up, even with Sansa going down South for Uni.”

“You’re family has certainly gotten bigger.” Dany smiled widely and Myrcella knew the smile wasn’t just for her.

“Yeah, yours too.” Myrcella beamed in return, happy to see Dany’s pleased flush.

“So…” Dany trailed off slightly, face appearing to be telling herself to stop speaking.

“So…?” Myrcella imitated a drawn out imitation, smiling in invitation.

“I’m sorry. I was just…wondering where Gendry fell into things? Did he move up here with your Father too? Because, he sounds Southern to me too though I didn’t really speak to him too much at the party.” Dany conversed easily.

“Uh…no. Gendry is…a fairly recent part of my life.” Myrcella admitted, taking a moment to think of how to word it all and how much detail to go into.

“Hey, you don’t have to explain. I was just cu-” Dany began.

“No, no. I’m…I’m not ashamed of Gendry. I can talk about it. It’s just…a little complicated.” Myrcella confessed with a shrug of her shoulder.

“I think all of our stories are complicated.” Dany consoled, smiling softly.

“True. Well…Gendry was already with Arya and I was already with Robb when we found out that he was my Father’s illegitimate son. It was about two years ago when it all came out. Father was keen to just throw some coin at him to keep him quiet but Gendry wanted nothing to do with him. I thought he’d want nothing to do with me but…we just started to build a relationship. We already knew each other because of our significant others but we’d never been particularly close up until that point so it was quite bizarre to suddenly be told that he was my sibling. It wasn’t very long after we found out that he and Arya broke up and he moved back to King’s Landing but we’ve made sure to keep in touch and he often meets up with Tommen.”

“And your other broth-”

“He’s not in the equation.” Myrcella cut-off, feeling guilty almost immediately, hoping that she didn’t come off as miffed with Dany. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I just…don’t get along with Joffrey any more. We’ve not spoken for some time and that’s how I like it.”

“It’s fine.” Dany smiled. “He…he used to be with Sansa, didn’t he?” Dany asked cautiously.

“Eurgh! Yes! Not her best judgement. He was…horrible to her.” Myrcella answered, feeling the nausea rise up slightly at the memories. “Horrible is putting it lightly to be honest when it comes to the things that he did to her. But she got away from him; that’s the main thing.” Myrcella expanded, taking deep breaths. “Thankfully, her taste got better.” Myrcella smiled as Dany joined in.

*~*~*

Sansa closed the front door quietly behind her and dragged her feet slightly when it came to going any further, not looking forward to having this out with Margaery. She was either going to forgive her instantly once she apologised and _really_ meant it or she was going to stubbornly resist moving forward and Sansa would just have to wait for as long as it took for her ire to burn out. Lady came up to meet her when she entered the living room and nuzzled her hand in encouragement. She took off her coat and made her way to the kitchen where she could hear the radio playing, guessing that was where her wife was.

Margaery's back was to her when she entered the kitchen, her shoulders hunched over the counter while she chopped something or other, pink and gold flowery apron tied around her waist. Sansa took a bracing breath and debated internally how best to approach the situation, woefully under-practiced at arguing with Margaery and therefore apologising to her.

She was standing around ten feet away from Margaery when she seemed to notice her presence; her shoulders tensed and her hands lost their rhythm. Sansa hated that this was the current state of affairs; that her wife would feel uncomfortable in her presence. It made something flutter nervously in her chest and she rushed forward, heedless of the fact that her pissed off wife had a knife in her hands and wrapped her arms tightly around her from behind and buried her face in her neck.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I get it now, okay? We're a team and I took it upon myself to speak for the both of us when I shouldn't have. You were right. We had time to discuss it but...I was just scared. I was so scared she would go and that would be it and it's taken us nearly two years to get to this point and who knows how long it would have taken us to get this far with someone else. But...we can tell her no, okay? Let her go back home and start over if that's what you-”

Margaery finally moved, putting the knife down on the chopping board before lifting her hands to clasp Sansa's arms. “That's not what I want either.” Margaery said on a sigh. “I just...it just doesn't quite...feel right.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa pressed, her hold less desperate and more like a cuddle now that they had a dialogue going.

“I...it doesn't...I don't know.” Margaery gave up, huffing, either at her inability to articulate herself or to explain her intuition.

Sansa tensed slightly as a thought came to her. “I know when we first got married you were hoping we'd have more time before we started having kids. Did you...did you think it would take us longer to get to this point? Is it too soon?” She queried hesitantly.

Margaery turned in the circle of Sansa's arms and stroked her hands over her hips soothingly. “No, that's not what this is.” She promised, looking into Sansa's concerned blue eyes.

“You're sure?” Sansa pushed, now looking a little green at the prospect that she may have unintentionally pushed Margaery into this faster than what she was comfortable with.

“Yes.” Margaery pressed up onto her tiptoes to give Sansa a quick, reassuring peck to her lips. "I promise." She kissed her again, this one lingering longer and when she pulled away, Sansa's lips followed, her hands coming up to pull the brunette’s head back to her own.

The air became charged suddenly, Margaery's hands on Sansa's hips pushing her back against the island while Sansa pushed her tongue into her mouth. Sansa's hand came up to tear at the apron strings as Margaery's dipped lower, squeezing Sansa's thighs and pushing up. Sansa heeded the wordless request, bracing her hands on the counter behind her before jumping up to sit on it. Sansa finished taking the apron off of Margaery while Margaery began undoing the buttons on Sansa's shirt from the bottom and working her way up, pressing her face to Sansa's stomach until she conceded and lay down. Margaery pressed kisses to the skin of Sansa's abdomen, revealed by each liberated button, whispering into her flesh. “Shae's out for the night so we can make it up to each other properly. I hate it when we fight.”

“Me too.” Sansa panted, burying her fingers tightly into Margaery's brown curls, throwing her head back and moaning deep as her teeth scraped over her sternum.

“I'm sorry I shouted at you.” Margaery apologised, soothing the now reddening skin of Sansa's chest with her tongue. “I don't...I didn't mean to be so nasty. I really didn't mean to give you such an acidic, tongue-lashing.”

Sansa did have to admit to herself that, even though she understood why she was angry at the time, what Margaery said had hurt. Margaery words were a double-edged sword with the capacity for great compassion or great viscosity; she had so rarely come down on the wrong side of Margaery before that she forgot just how much that was true.

Sansa didn't really want to dwell on it anymore; they both forgave each other and that was what mattered most. _'There's a tried and tested way to get off of any given topic quickly.'_ Sansa mused to herself. “I must admit, it wasn't my favourite type of tongue-lashing from you.” Sansa looked down at Margaery who was resting her chin under Sansa's ribs, hoping that her smile conveyed flirtation and forgiveness.

Margaery remained where she was for half a moment, smiling softly at her before her face morphed into her typically palpitation inducing, lecherously wicked smirk. “Well,” Margaery started, her fingers hooking under Sansa's skirt and knickers both, placing a soft kiss below her belly button before yanking down harshly, causing Sansa jump slightly with the thrill of anticipation, “if My Lady has a preference...” Margaery trailed off, lowering her head and putting her wicked tongue towards a greater purpose.

*~*~*

_“Hello?”_

_“Shae’s making a move.”_

_“Hello to you too, Arya.”_

_“Hello, Olenna! Shae’s making a move.”_

_“What move?”_

_“She’s given them some sob story about needing more coin for a sick Mother and street urchin-like younger siblings back in Norvos.”_

_“Have they given it to her?”_

_“Not yet but they agreed to it.”_

_“They?”_

_“…Sansa.”_

_“So, what are you going to do?”_

_“What information do your people have for me?”_

_“I’ll fast track it. How long do we have?”_

_“The embryo transfer is booked for nine days’ time.”_

_“I’ll give them no more than three days to give us something solid.”_

_“Good. If they don’t meet that deadline, something else will have to be done.”_

_“Agreed. Let us see what happens and then we can…discuss a ‘Plan B’.”_

_“Understood.”_

_“Wait for my call.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just out of curiosity, did y'all get that Arya had been listening to Sansa and Catelyn's conversation the whole time? It was hard to make it obvious from Catelyn's perspective.
> 
> Ta!
> 
> *WC68*


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has seemed really curious about what Shae is up to...read on.
> 
> *WC68*

It was the fourth morning of her new regime with Rickon and he was improving day-by-day, even if it was slow going; he was able to keep pace with her a little better and managed to tilt his head to the side to throw up now, so Arya was very happy.

When Arya was younger and had started working out seriously, there were very few foods that she could stomach afterwards and Rickon seemed to be the same so when he went to shower she would always start a pot of porridge for them both to eat.

Her parents had both eaten and left for the day already so it was just the two of them in the house. She had just ladled out the first bowl of porridge when her phone started to ring. She threw the ladle back into the pan, creating a mini-porridge geyser effect, throwing goop onto the counter.

“Shit.” Arya cursed quietly, picking up her phone in irritation, blaming it for the now necessary clean up. “Hello?”

 _“I have the answers.”_ Olenna’s voice intoned solemnly into the phone.

“Hold on.” Arya replied, turning to head upstairs so she could ensure an uninterrupted, private conversation. She passed Rickon on her way up the stairs, freshly showered and making his way down to the kitchen. “I’ve got to go out in a bit. Porridge is made. Clear it all up when you’re done would you?”

“You got it.” He answered with a smile, raising his hand to muss her still damp hair which she stealthily evaded, making him chortle deeply.

She closed her bedroom door and locked it firmly behind her. “What do you have?”

There was a long pause which gave Arya enough time to build herself up to a steady panic of what the Tyrell matriarch’s people had found. _“Considering my imagination and your pessimism, or even **my** pessimism and **your** imagination, I really did not think it could be as bad as we had envisioned…but it is, in fact, worse.”_

*~*~*

“Hello Grandmother?” Margaery simpered into her phone. “And what can I do for you on this fine, sunny day?”

 _“Can you even **see** the sun from where you are in that desolate, frozen hell hole that you call home now?”_ Olenna Tyrell’s snide voice was crisp down the line and made Margaery laugh, clearly being able to see in her mind’s eye her grandmother’s face and expressions to go with her voice.

“It can just about sneak through the snow clouds a couple of times a day.” Margaery retorted drily, learning snark at her grandmother’s knee the way that others learned knitting. “So, considering your dislike for technology, I can only assume a phone call warrants a specific nature in your want to speak with me?” Margaery asked curiously, more used to communicating with her grandmother primarily through letters since she had left Highgarden

 _“Hmmmmm…yes. I have sent you an e-mail; I would like you to look at the document attached.”_ Olenna stated imperiously.

“An e-mail? Whoa, Grandmother. This must be life or death.” Margaery exclaimed only half joking.

Her grandmother said nothing.

“Give me a second, I’m at my computer now.” Margaery stated, moving her sketch pad and pencils out of the way to bring her laptop more squarely to sit in front of her. Her grandmother was silent as she waited for the internet to respond, making Margaery’s nerves begin to jingle, now knowing that this matter was of a serious nature.

“Right.” Margaery declared as the document begun to open, quieting to skim through it quickly. “I don’t…what exactly…”

 _“It’s a contract.”_ Olenna clarified firmly.

“For Shae?” Margaery asked, slightly confused.

 _“Yes.”_ Olenna replied simply.

“Why would we need this?” Margaery challenged, nerves raw with agitation.

 _“Margaery,”_ Olenna sighed down the phone before taking a deep breath, _“we are quite similar in nature, you and I; would you concede that?”_

“Yes, Grandmother.” Margaery agreed because it was truth, from her dislike of eggs right down to the cows lick in her fringe.

 _“I know you, Girl. And I know that something about this jumped-up, little upstart sets your teeth on edge.”_ Olenna said slowly, enunciating each word clearly and Margaery said nothing, just listened. _“She makes me worried for you.”_

Margaery took a deep breath, unable to argue so just rubbed her forehead harshly.

 _“Get her to sign the contract.”_ Olenna whispered and it was so soothing and convincing that resisting her words felt like resisting sleep while listening to a gentle lullaby.

“She might take it as an affront…” Margaery started to argue.

 _“I do not care how she will take it.”_ Olenna replied simply.

“But Sansa…”

 _“Listen to me, Margaery. I understand, how hard it is to say ‘no’ to that face,”_ Her grandmother started simply and Margaery was so filled with dread that she couldn’t even feel the usual warm rush that normally accompanied her Grandmother’s reminiscing of her childhood best friend, Minisa Whent, Sansa’s grandmother who was, apparently, as physically identical to Sansa as Olenna was to Margaery, _“but you need to stop ignoring your instincts. I promise you, nothing good has ever come of me doing it in the past. Invest in some upset now to prevent heartache later.”_ It was hard to gage over the phone but Margaery sensed something almost desperate in her grandmother’s tone; it wasn’t cajoling or teasing or imperious or any other tone that her grandmother had ever used on her in the past to get her way, just pure, unadulterated _need_ for her to listen.

“I’ll talk to Sansa.” Margaery announced.

 _“Margaery…”_ Olenna started to push further.

“Grandmother!” Margaery interrupted firmly. “I will discuss it with my wife.”

There was a gentle huff down the line and her Olenna relented, _“That’s all I can ask then, I suppose.”_

*~*~*

Margaery spent the rest of the afternoon unable to focus on her designs or her projects or her sketches, instead she just printed out the contract to flip through, trying to devise a plan of how best to bring up the topic to Sansa.

Sansa was a bit late home from work that night, running into their bedroom, completely flustered that they would now not be ten minutes early to meet Robb and Myrcella at the cinema, as was her preference, stripping as she made her way to their en-suite.

“Wait, Sweet Girl, I need to talk to you.” Margaery interrupted Sansa’s ranting with the younger woman’s fingers on the zipper of her skirt.

Sansa raised a dubious eyebrow at the thought of pausing in getting ready when they were already late and that Margaery had _actually_ tried to stop her from undressing.

“Can’t it wait?” Sansa carried on, pushing her skirt down over her hips before beginning to fiddle with the clasp on her bracelet.

“No Sans, it can’t.” Margaery replied firmly, patting the space on the bed next to her.

Sansa seemed to have suddenly slowed down enough to take note of Margaery’s serious expression. “What is it? What’s wrong? What happened?” She asked in quick-fire succession, standing in the middle of the room in her blouse and tights, holding her skirt in her hands, expression worried and flustered and, seriously, how was Margaery _not_ meant to melt at how cute she looked?

“Just breathe and sit with me for a second, okay?” Margaery cooed, more gently patting the space next to her on the bed this time, running a hand over it in invitation.

Sansa obeyed quickly, wanting Margaery to start talking as quickly as possible. “So?”

Margaery grabbed the stack of papers from her other side and put them on Sansa’s lap, saying nothing.

“What’s this?” Sansa asked confused, skimming through the contents quickly.

“It’s something that my grandmother has had written up for us…for Shae.” Margaery clarified, soberly.

Sansa lifted her eyes to Margaery’s face for a moment, questioningly, before continuing to flick through the papers.

“I don’t really think this is necessary…” Sansa started, placating.

“I do.” Margaery interceded.

Sansa paused again to look at Margaery for a long moment before continuing to thumb through the contract. “I…uhh…I’m not too sure on what all of this actually means?” Sansa asked, confused.

“Basically, it’s just setting out terms for both parties, us and Shae, to adhere to. Like, it specifies the amount we’re going to compensate her with, when the payments will be made, how the payments will be made and then the conditions from her end are she can’t leave Westeros after the transfer until the babe is born, can’t drink alcohol, can’t smoke, can’t do drugs, things to that effect.” Margaery summarised, more familiar than Sansa to the legal jargon from her two years of studying political sciences.

Sansa continued to mull over the situation, her fingers kneading the knots in her neck. “I don’t know, Marge. I’m worried this could really offend her.”

“Sansa, this is a lot of money that we are talking about. It’s the smart thing to do with so much riding on it. Our baby. Do you really want to take even the slimmest risk on this?” Margaery felt a little bad, knowing that she was manipulating Sansa slightly, picking her words carefully but she needed Sansa to worry less about Shae’s feelings and more about themselves.

Sansa let out a pained little groan before answering, “No.”

“Well, I think we should talk to her about it now and see what she says.”

“Now?!” Sansa shrieked, alarmed. “Is it fair to just spring it on her like that?” Sansa questioned, now taking her glasses off to rub her face roughly in agitation.

Margaery reached over, grabbing the hand that Sansa had resting on her bare lap and stroked her thumb over the soft skin there. “The transfer is booked for next week, Babe. When exactly would be the right time to put it to her? When she’s laying with legs akimbo in the stirrups?” Margaery tried to joke, brushing the auburn hair out of Sansa’s face.

Sansa let out a groaning laugh, the one she gave when trying to stop herself from laughing by letting out a disapproving huff at the same time.

“We might as well broach it tonight. No time like the present.” Margaery continued to look at Sansa expectantly until Sansa conceded with a nod. She let Sansa put on some ‘around-the-house’ clothes before Margaery grabbed her hand and the contract. They went downstairs to the living room where Shae was sitting, dolled up and ready for the cinema (and Robb).

“Shae, can we have a word with you?” Margaery broached casually as Sansa stood awkwardly to the side.

“Of course.” She answered with a smile, muting the television.

Margaery pulled Sansa along with her to the sofa, sitting down and facing Shae where she sat on the love seat, looking at them both expectantly.

“My Grandmother has sent this up from Highgarden and I think it would be prudent for you and us to read through it.” Margaery steamrolled in, putting the contract on the coffee table.

Shae’s face stayed stoic yet neutral. “Oh?”

Margaery didn’t bother answering, just continued to look at her. Shae grudgingly leaned forward to pick up the contract and began to thumb through it slowly. It was an agonising couple of moments with Sansa squeezing her hand painfully in her lap, never comfortable in a pregnant silence.

“You do not trust me?” Shae finally spoke, seemingly looking down at the contract in her hands but not seeing it.

“No…” Sansa started, leaning forward but Margaery kept a hand on her lap, keeping her from moving further and comforting Shae.

“It’s not about trust, Shae. It’s about clearly setting out expectations for all parties involved, that’s all. This is a _child_ we’re talking about after all.” Margaery put in evenly at the end in an attempt to make it all seem less personal.

Shae just nodded her head slowly, her eyes appeared to be calculating and assessing at a phenomenal speed.

“Shae?” Sansa finally put in, cautiously.

“It is fine.” Shae stated dispassionately, skimming her open palms over the top page of the document.

“Would you…like us to go through it with you?” Sansa asked with trepidation yet still trying to be helpful.

“No, that is not necessary.” Shae replied stiffly. “I will look over this tonight.”

“Okay.” Sansa chirped with fake enthusiasm. “I’ll cancel with Robb and Myrcella and we’ll sit down and…”

“No. I would rather do this alone, if you do not mind.” Shae stated, staring at Margaery with steel in her eyes.

“Oh…uh…” Sansa floundered.

“Of course.” Margaery put in, more convinced than ever that this was the right action based on the intensely calm reaction Shae was having. “We’ll go to the film and leave you to…ponder.” Margaery stood calmly and pulled Sansa up with her, collecting their phones and purses.

“I’m not dressed for going out…” Sansa whispered desperately as Margaery started to push her gently towards the front door.

“Let’s just go. We’re late.” Margaery whispered back cajolingly, nudging her wife gently but firmly out of the door. “We’ll see you later, Shae.” Margaery threw over her shoulder, eying Shae lounging in the chair, an intense burning in her eyes.

*~*~*

Arya had been perched in a tree outside of Sansa and Margaery’s in the falling snow for several hours now. She had watched Margaery through her study window as she spoke to Olenna on the phone, watched Shae return home an hour later, reapplying her lipstick and tidying her hair on the doorstep before entering and then Sansa running through the door an hour late from work. Her joints were screaming, her waterproof clothes had a covering of fine snow on them and her toes were starting to go numb as she observed the presentation of Shae with the contract that Olenna had mentioned earlier and then the tense conversation between the three of them that followed. Sansa and Margaery left the house soon after, Sansa complaining about the appropriateness of both her attire and leaving Shae alone.

“She seemed so upset.” Arya could just about hear Sansa’s voice, full of empathy, over the howl of wind and Arya found herself angrily noting her sister’s naiveté as she watched Shae’s sudden flurry of activity in the living room, running into the kitchen for a moment before returning to the living room, collecting a number of items from various places. She didn’t really know if she was more angry _with_ Sansa or _for_ Sansa but she didn’t ponder it for too long as the Stark-Tyrells both got into the car and drove away while Shae ran up the stairs, arms laden with various items.

Arya silently slipped out of the tree, landing silently in the soft snow except for a muted crunch.

Arya quickly made her way to the back door of the house which led to the kitchen. She carefully peered into each window that she passed to affirm that Shae was still upstairs. By the time she was looking in through the glass of the kitchen door, Lady had still not made an appearance at the sounds of a possible intruder which Arya found peculiar though she could hear her muted barks coming from inside. She pulled the small, black kit she had acquired in Braavos from her inside jacket pocket and made short work of the back doors lock. She carefully and quietly stepped through the door, silent as a shadow. She walked more fully into the large kitchen area and could hear the muted thuds from upstairs accompanying Shae’s movements and soft growls and blows coming from the small laundry room on the other side of the kitchen.

She approached and could hear Lady’s soft whining so she started to soothingly coo at her through the door. “Lady. Good girl. I need you to be quiet.” Arya whispered. When she quietened, Arya opened the door. Lady immediately emerged and went into Arya’s open arms where she was knelt down on the stone floor. She petted Lady for a long moment before Lady tried to push passed her, a small growl rumbling through her chest. “Easy, easy.” She cooed again, ruffling Lady’s ears. “I need you stay down here, okay?” Arya asked, looking into her intelligent yellow eyes, exactly the same shade as Nymeria’s. “I’ll take care of this.” Lady seemed to dither for a moment, lifting her big, grey paw onto Arya’s arm before putting her nose to Arya’s forehead, seemingly in acquiescence.

Arya stood and Lady calmly walked with her into the living room before she veered off towards her plush, fluffy bed by the fire; Arya continued on up the stairs.

She walked past the open door to the spare bedroom that had served as Shae’s for the last week or so and noted the suitcase that was now lying on the bed, half-filled haphazardly. There was a beam of light glowing through the dimness further down the corridor in Sansa and Margaery’s bedroom which Arya made her way towards, silently stepping into the doorway of her sister’s bedroom. The drawers had clearly been rummaged through, laying open with various clothing and fabrics half hanging out. There was a collected pile of jewellery on the comforter at the base of the canopied, king sized bed, including, Arya noted, the onyx, citrine and silver pendent that had belonged to their grandmother, given to Sansa on her wedding day by Grandfather Hoster. Shae herself was sitting near the head of the bed near Sansa’s bedside lamp, scanning through a folder which Arya assumed she had somehow gotten from the now open and exposed safe in the wall that had likely been hidden by one of the paintings that Margaery had done for Sansa as a wedding gift. Arya was grudgingly impressed; she didn’t even know that the two of them even had a safe.

“Find anything interesting?” Arya asked quietly, arms crossed as she leaned against the open door frame. Shae jumped, throwing a startled glance to the doorway. Shae’s large brown eyes were swivelling around their sockets, analysing, determining what her next move should be.

“Arya.” Shae breathed before pasting a fake smile on her face. “Margaery had just asked me to…”

“Oh, let’s just not.” Arya smirked while glaring and shaking her head.

Shae’s mask slipped smoothly off of her face and a wry smile crossed her own face, appraising Arya as an opponent. “So, what are you thinking will happen now?”

“I don’t _think_ anything. I _know_ exactly what’s going to happen. You’re going to get up, leave everything you didn’t come into this house with and get the fuck out of Winterfell.” Arya stated ominously as she slowly stepped forward.

Shae let out a low laugh and reclined to her elbow on the bed with unaffected ease. “That will not be how this shall go.”

“Really?” Arya remarked conversationally.

“No. If you want me to go, then I will be needing incentive.” Shae goaded with mock aloofness.

Arya actually laughed at that though it held no real mirth. “Ballsy fucker aren’t you?” Arya questioned, face blank but eyes angry. Shae just stared back at her, unaffected. “Don’t you see that I’ve already given you incentive to leave?” Arya questioned, moving around the room like a predator. “Well, an escape route at least. The contract.” She clarified. “That’s your chance Shae, to walk away from this with no repercussions.”

“Repercussions?” She asked, clearly still amused. “Threats, Arya?”

“No threats. If I were threatening you, I might mention the last couple you acted as a ‘surrogate’ for. Magister Ordello of Pentos and his wife? Except, after you became pregnant, you ran off, didn’t you? Kept them waiting for months before demanding a ransom for the newborn babe. But, after they paid you, desperately hoping to get the babe back that they’d never even seen, you laughingly admitted that you had had an abortion months before.” Arya struggled to hold in her disgust with the despicable girl in front of her. Shae’s eyes bulged slightly at Arya’s revelation and Arya smiled as she stepped right up next to her on the bed, bending down and leaning forward to whisper menacingly, “I hear that the Magister has a rather generous bounty on your head, Shae Joth; preferably alive.”

At that Shae launched herself forward like a shadowcat, nails digging themselves into Arya’s neck, bringing her to the floor while Arya smirked. Finally Shae’s face lost its composure, the anger now crashing over her face like a tsunami at realising that Arya knew her real identity and had real leverage over her. “I will not go easy! Your stupid fucking sister and that Tyrell bitch will give me…”

Shae was suddenly cut off as she was flipped harshly onto her back, Arya now sitting on top of her chest, squeezing her throat tightly. “You know,” Arya choked out, resisting Shae futile struggling with little effort, “I’m trying _really_ hard to move away from the life that I’ve been leading for the last couple of years. I came here tonight, intending to let you walk away, but you’re not making it possible for me to do that.”

Shae was now gasping desperately, her chest feeling tight from Arya’s weight and the constriction of her throat. “You would have done that to them too, wouldn’t you?” Arya asked though she knew the girl could not answer. “Taken my sister’s coin, her babe, killed it and bled her for more. That’s what the sob story was for wasn’t it? That was its purpose? To see how hard you could _push_!” Arya emphasised her final word with more pressure on Shae’s throat.

Arya did not want to do this. She was trying valiantly to reign herself in. She had already let her anger get away from her and she didn’t have long to make a decision of what she would do next. She thought of her sister, her family, of finally being home but also of the vile scum that was laid out in front of her and what she had done, what she _would_ have done next.

There was really only one course of action that Arya _could_ take.

She leaned forward slowly, her breath hot and humid on Shae’s ear making her shiver as she began to lose consciousness and whispered softly, “Valar Morghulis.”

*~*~*

Sansa pulled up onto their drive, turned off the engine and let out a breath. “How do you think this will go?” She turned to her wife sitting next to her in the passenger seat.

“I don’t know.” Margaery replied softly, placing her fingers over Sansa’s still on gear stick. “I suppose if she’s signed it, great and if she’s not…we’ll have to have a discussion.” Margaery put in neutrally. Sansa closed her eyes and looked nauseous with nerves. Margaery reached over and began to squeeze the back of her neck in an attempt to alleviate her stress. “Whatever happens we’ll deal with it together, okay?”

Sansa managed a small queasy smile before nodding. “Okay.” Margaery leaned over to peck her lightly on the cheek before they made their way out of the car and towards the house. Sansa linked her arm with Margaery’s as they walked up the icy path, looking down at her feet, sighing, and Margaery knew that she was, yet again, lamenting that she had been made to go out in public in her wellies of all things and Margaery could only laugh as it was _so Sansa_ to focus on such a thing in an attempt to pull herself away from her nerves.

Margaery opened the front door and they were met with silence. They walked into the living room together and Margaery noted straight away that the contract was carelessly strewn on the coffee table and, as they moved closer, she saw was still unsigned. Sansa went over to Lady’s bed to pet her and Margaery noted it strange that she hadn’t got up to welcome them as she normally did.

“Shae?” Margaery called as she shrugged off her coat, a few flakes of snow falling onto the floor and melting immediately into the rug.

_Silence._

Sansa looked up curiously at Margaery from where she was knelt next to Lady.

“Come on.” Margaery stated, offering her hand to Sansa to help her stand up before making their way up the stairs together. Margaery climbed the stairs with Sansa at her side and was careful to keep the trepidation off of her own face, unsure of what they would do if Shae actually refused to sign the contract.

They stopped in front of Shae’s closed door, Sansa taking a breath and rolling her shoulders, psyching herself up. After around seventeen seconds of silently waiting for Sansa’s raised fist to make contact with the door, Margaery lost her patience and knocked firmly on the door herself. “Shae?” She called.

_Silence._

“Maybe she is angry with us.” Sansa whispered to her, her big, blue eyes swimming with concern but Margaery had the sinking feeling that this was something else.

“Shae?!” She called out again, louder and more firmly than before. When no answer was received she called out again, “We’re coming in.”

“No, we ca-” Sansa started as Margaery’s fingers closed around the door knob, twisting and pushing the door open, heedless of her wife’s concern.

The room was horribly, sickeningly, resoundingly empty. Shae’s suitcase was gone, as was her book, her jewellery, her makeup and her clothes, evidenced by the empty, open drawers and cupboards.

Margaery closed her eyes in defeat, feeling Sansa go stock still next to her. “What…I don’t…NO!” Her wife shouted suddenly, turning and going down the corridor. Margaery distantly noted the slamming of all the doors, guessing that Sansa was checking each room of the house as though she would find Shae there, sat on her suitcase and ready to pronounce ‘Gotcha!’

Margaery walked slowly towards their bedroom, pushed open the door, finding it as it was when they left and sunk down on the bed in defeat.

“Margaery. Margaery!” Sansa’s desperate voice called, echoing in the guest bathroom before she appeared in the doorway. “We…we need to call the airports.” Sansa stated. She looked manic, her eyes wide and jumping from side to side, running her hand through her hair harshly.

“Sansa…” Margaery started wearily.

“Why are you sitting?!” Sansa screamed suddenly, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “We have to find her.”

“Sweet Girl, it was a scam.” Margaery explained patiently.

“No, no, no it wasn’t!” She was sobbing now and it was the only thing that could have pulled Margaery completely out of her own stupor.

She stood and stepped towards Sansa, arms out. “She was just trying to get coins from us, Sans.”

“No! That’s not true!” She shouted before she covered her face in her hands and started to sob in earnest. Margaery lifted her hands to Sansa’s in an attempt to pry them away from her face when Sansa suddenly yanked them away herself, leaping away from her like a caged animal, looking set for a rage and Margaery, the only nearby target. “We should never have given her that stupid, fucking contract!” Sansa spat at her, face red and blotchy with tears. Margaery was braced for it, knew that her wife’s heart was breaking and she couldn’t take anything she was saying whilst in this state to heart but she couldn’t help but question herself and whether she had done the right thing.

She stepped forward and grabbed Sansa’s wrists steadfastly. Her wife tried to fight her, pulling her wrists back but Margaery held firm, pulling herself to Sansa, wrapping her arms around her and holding her tight, even as she fought to get away. Sansa barely struggled for ten seconds before her knees buckled and she fell to the floor with a god’s awful wail that reverberated in Margaery’s soul before her fingers dug into Margaery’s arms tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably into her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit darker than anything thus far I know but...I make no apologies.
> 
> *WC68*


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a reaction of all the character's to the previous.
> 
> *WC68*

Margaery awoke slowly, blinking her eyes against the bright morning light as she snuggled deeper into Sansa's back. Normally, Sansa was an early bird and wasn't still in bed by the time Margaery woke up but here she was and Margaery soaked up the warm glow of...

 _'Oh fuck.'_ Margaery thought, eyes popping open suddenly as the night before came rushing back to her. After about an hour of crying and then a further twenty minutes of sniffling, Sansa had finally stilled and Margaery had coerced her into pyjamas and then under the covers.

Margaery lifted herself up slowly, bracing on her elbow so that she could see her wife’s face properly; Sansa's eyes were open and gazing vacantly ahead, her fingers braiding her auburn hair, seemingly on autopilot. Margaery leaned forward and pressed her lips to Sansa's cheek as she didn't seem to have yet noticed that Margaery was awake. "Morning." Margaery mumbled, leaving her lips pressed against her wife's cheek.

"Morning." Sansa replied lifelessly.

Silence followed so Margaery just laid her head on Sansa's shoulder and squeezed her tighter. After a few moments, Margaery worked through the dryness in her throat to speak again. "This isn't the end. We'll find someone else."

Sansa took a sharp breath in response, sitting up on the bed so that Margaery fell away from her. "I'm going to have a shower." She announced before standing and walking to the en-suite with little preamble.

"Oh, okay." Margaery replied with fake enthusiasm. "Good idea, great-" Margaery trailed off as the door closed firmly behind Sansa. Margaery sighed deeply before getting out of bed, thinking she might as well use the guest shower so that she didn't have to leave Sansa alone later. She ran to the bathroom and rushed through her usual routine and was back in their bedroom before Sansa had even finished in the en-suite. Margaery got dressed distractedly, looking up at the door every five seconds as though she wouldn't hear it open at such a close proximity. When she was completely dressed and had loitered for ten minutes and Sansa still hadn't come out, Margaery decided her time was better served starting breakfast.

"Sans, I'm going to start breakfast." Margaery called.

There was a long pause before she made out Sansa's grumbled reply of, "Okay."

Margaery sighed and made her way downstairs. She put a pot of tea on and had just finished slicing up the mangoes for their fruit salad when Sansa came into the kitchen, dragging her feet, hair wet, wearing one of Jon's old Castle Black Regiment hoodies and a pair of KLU gym shorts.

"Hey. This is just about ready." Margaery proclaimed, splitting the portions across two plates.

"I'm just going to sort myself out, thanks." Sansa stated, opening the fridge and peering inside.

"Oh. Okay." Margaery mumbled, disappointed. She didn't think Sansa was angry with her per se but that didn't make it any easier to deal with her current behaviour. Margaery observed as Sansa grabbed a tub of Ben and Jerry's from the freezer, a six pack of ale from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer before making her way into the living room and Margaery had to bite her lip.

She took a moment to compose herself and assess how she should broach this situation. She had never seen Sansa like this before and was at a bit of a loss of what to do. She considered calling Catelyn for half a second but her wife was so proud she would not thank her for springing her family, least of all her mother, on her when she was in a vulnerable state, always wanting to prove herself to her parents. Margaery decided that she would give it a few hours to see if Sansa came out of her stupor at all and, if not, _then_ she would call either Robb or Bran for assistance.

In the living room, Sansa was lying on the sofa and had buried herself and Lady under a worn, old comforter made for her by Old Nan, the family babysitter who had died a few years ago; the faithful canine was stretched out parallel to her Mistress, Sansa cuddling into her eagerly. The ale was opened and Sansa took a deep pull as Margaery made her way around the back of the sofa to the chair, watching as Sansa settled on a _Friends_ marathon. She blew on her tea in preparation to take a sip when Sansa finally addressed her unprompted. "Why are you sat all the way over there?" She looked up and noted that Sansa's expression was genuinely puzzled under her glasses, spoon hanging out of her mouth before the redhead shuffled herself and Lady up to make room for Margaery next to them.

Margaery let out a small smile of relief at the minuscule victory, picked up her plate and cup to walk over and settle into the small, cosy spot that Sansa had afforded her. When the crockery was balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa and Margaery had sat down, Sansa pulled the blanket up higher to partially cover Margaery also before snuggling up under her chin, Lady also shuffling herself up to place her head in Margaery's lap. Sansa remained silent, continued to drink her ale and eat her frozen yoghurt and stare blankly at the screen. Margaery knew she wasn't really watching it and more than once throughout the day she felt a tear trickle down her arm where Sansa’s face was pressed to it but once in a while, she would reach the spoon blindly behind her to wordlessly feed Margaery some _Phish Food_ ; for now, that was enough.

*~*~*

Meera reached across the bed blindly and when she encountered soft sheets instead of a hard body her eyes popped open. She sat up slowly and yawned before she made out Bran's shape sat at the end of the bed. _'Maybe we've been together for too long.'_ She thought sardonically as she could tell, even in the dark, that the slump of his shoulders meant that he was one of his sombre moods. She crawled to the base of the bed and calmly slung her arms over his shoulders, pressing her front into his back. "Bran, come to bed." She encouraged with her lips pressed against his neck, muttering directly into his skin.

"I can't sleep." He stated plainly, his eyes puzzled as though he thought he should know why.

"Your chances are not like to improve sitting here." She retorted, tangling her fingers in his hair without conscious thought.

"Something's...off and I don't know what. I've had this feeling since I woke up this morning and I've been waiting for the phone to ring but it hasn't...I mean, it has but not with anything significant." He clarified distractedly.

She lifted her head from his shoulder and sighed, bringing her hands up to massage his neck and shoulders, making him groan in relief, head dropping forward limply like a marionette with the strings cut. Bran had always had amazing intuition, often getting strange _feelings_ that normally corresponded with something significant but when these _feelings_ came he would then be constantly on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Bran, I'm sure nothing will happen-" Meera started soothingly.

"But I think it's already happened." He interrupted with a slight panic.

"Well, if it was anything _really_ bad, you would have had a phone call, wouldn't you? Whatever may or may not have happened is being...managed by whoever. Okay?" Meera reasoned softly.

"Mmmm." He agreed noncommittally.

Meera sighed softly before pulling his body to lie back on the bed before curling herself around his head and running her hands through his hair and over the worried creases in his forehead until he fell into a fitful sleep.

*~*~*

When Margaery woke up the next morning, she barely had enough time to register the cold space in the bed next to her before she could smell the pancakes. She opened her eyes as Sansa sat down on the bed and put the tray on the bed next to her. “Morning, my Beautiful Rose.” She announced with a small smile, leaning forward to kiss Margaery’s temple.

Margaery turned her head quickly when Sansa began to retreat to steal a kiss from her lips. “This looks great, Sweetness.” Margaery smiled, eying the sliced strawberries on the pancakes keenly.

“Yeah, well, I was…selfish yesterday. I still…shut you out when I know I should be letting you in.” Sansa started, looking down guiltily as she stroked her fingers over Margaery’s. “I’m sorry. Today is for you. Whatever you need. Okay?” Margaery knew that Sansa still wasn’t back to normal. Her smile wasn’t reaching her eyes and her shoulders were slumped like the air had been let out of her a little bit but she wasn’t semi-comatose like yesterday so baby-steps were fine with Margaery.

Margaery just smiled at her for a moment and pressed her lips to Sansa’s cheek. “You weren’t being selfish Sansa, I just…wish you could talk about how you feel a bit more openly, that’s all. You’re great at doing it for some things but not others; I know that you just need some time to process things yourself first though. I don’t take it personally.” Margaery soothed, meaning every word, knowing that was just the way her wife was, a typical Sansa-quirk that she had had from Day One.

Sansa looked like she disagreed with Margaery’s summary and was angry with herself despite her wife’s words. “I know but…I’ll do better. I promise.” Sansa enthused, nodding her head eagerly, eyes intense with promise.

Margaery crawled closer to her at that, looking her straight in the eye with the expression that she knew made Sansa realise she meant business. “You’re not being assessed, Sweet Girl. There is no ‘better’, okay?” Margaery announced before leaning in and placing a couple of rapid fire kisses onto her lips.

Sansa managed to get a small laugh out and tried to hold Margaery to her a second longer but the brunette pulled away with a probing stare. Sansa just nodded with a small smile, unable to say anything so Margaery leaned in and gave her one long, slow kiss as reward for listening. Sansa’s hands came up to hold Margaery’s cheeks, thumb swiping across her cheekbones. When they pulled away, Sansa just stared at her for a long moment and Margaery struggled to puzzle out where her head was. “Bambi.” Sansa sighed softly with a smile. Margaery liked to pretend she hated the cute nickname derived from Sansa belief that Margaery looked like a Disney cartoon character but no one other than her family had ever given her a pet name before so, in reality, she secretly loved it. “I think, as long as I have you, I can make it through anything.” Sansa stated softly with such open honesty and trust on her face that Margaery had to cough to clear her throat. “That’s not a challenge!” Sansa suddenly shouted, lifting her face up to the ceiling, apparently addressing the Gods, wherever they were and Margaery managed to laugh at the small glimmer of Her-Sansa, shining through again.

They went on to eat in comfortable silence without Sansa even once passing comment on the obscene amount of syrup that Margaery put on her pancakes, as always; one of her few culinary indulgences.

"Can I have a cuddle?" Margaery asked when they were finished eating, looking to Sansa from where she was reclining on the bed.

Sansa smiled and put the tray on the floor before turning back to Margaery, putting her head on her chest and wrapping her arms around her ribs snuggling up to her.

Margaery brought her arms up loosely around Sansa before stating, “I thought you were going to give _me_ a cuddle?"

"Oh, right." Sansa stated before shimmying up the bed as Margaery shimmied down, swapping their positions. "Better?" Sansa asked.

Margaery purred contentedly in reply, taking a deep inhale from where her face was nuzzled in Sansa's neck.

They just lay there for a while, Sansa carding her fingers through Margaery's hair, the other hand stroking down Margaery's arm.

"Hmmmmm. I really think we should call people today to let them know what's happened." Margaery stated bracingly.

Sansa tensed, her hands retreating from Margaery. "I don't really want to think about it yet." Sansa started, her eyes going to the other side of the room.

Margaery shimmied herself up on the bed a bit and braced herself on her elbow to look down at Sansa. "I know that, Sweet Girl. But there's no point in putting these things off." Sansa said nothing. "Besides, your Mother will be expecting us for Sunday dinner so if you don't feel like going over there today either, we'll have to tell them something." The thought of having to sit in a room full of people, even her family, seemed to force Sansa to concede. "I can make the call?" Margaery offered.

"No, I'll call the Manor. Hopefully my Dad will answer." Sansa said with half-hearted derision. Margaery knew that Catelyn would be better at offering words of comfort over the phone but she knew that's not what Sansa wanted just yet; she wanted to just be able to get the words out and not be asked questions or have to expand and that’s where Ned was the more ideal option.

"Yeah. I'll ring my Mum and my Grandmother." Margaery returned.

Sansa's back seemed to tense at the mention of Olenna. Margaery didn't know if she was angry or not and, as she didn't think it would be fair if Sansa _were_ angry at her Grandmother, she thought it better not to comment on it or they could easily end up arguing over it and they did _not_ need that on top of everything else right now.

At that moment, Lady came into the room, barking eagerly before she jumped up onto the bed to lie next to them.

"No Lady, down!" Margaery ordered, pointing away from the bed. The great, grey beast just tilted her head, unconcerned, looking at her with wide, yellow eyes. “Aw, don’t look at me like that!” Margaery pleaded. Lady creeped closer to Margaery on her belly, whining softly at being reprimanded. “Oh, you are such a little manipulator!” Margaery bemoaned, leaning in to stroke Lady’s face and neck while kissing her between the ears. “A beautiful one.” She cooed softly.

“Maybe she wouldn’t manipulate you so much if you didn’t prove yourself so terribly susceptible.” Sansa reasoned, bring her own hand up to meet Margaery’s in Lady’s fur. Margaery gave a scowl at that, not looking impressed at her wife’s summary. Sansa laughed and it seemed the most genuine that she’d had in days. “She didn’t get to go for a walk yesterday. She’s just a little restless. Maybe we could take her for a walk before we…make phone calls.” Sansa edged. Margaery knew it was delaying the inevitable but not enough that they couldn’t indulge themselves with it.

“Sure.” Margaery smiled tiredly.

*~*~*

“Five more!”

“No!”

“Five more!”

“Fuck off!” Rickon yelled while Arya rolled her eyes.

“Five more or I’m going to steal your fucking phone and text all of the girls in your ‘little black book’ to tell them you’ve got the clap.” Arya threatened.

“Like fuck you will!” Rickon argued still panting and unable to move.

“And just how the fuck do you plan on stopping me when you can’t even lift your own bloody head up off of the floor?” Arya asked, tilting her head as a challenge and holding up his phone, baiting him.

Rickon’s eyes went wide as he rolled onto his front, expression desperate. “Wait!”

“You’re almost there.” Arya started with false encouragement, thumb poised over the screen. “Message is drafted, all contacts selected; I just need to press ‘Send’. What’s it to be, Little Brother?”

They stared at each other for a long tense moment, the same grey eyes assessing the situation before Rickon let out a groan of defeat loud enough to be a battle cry before he pushed himself off of the floor to do five final burpee’s.

“Well done!” Arya praised, handing him back his phone, his sweaty hand snatching it from her straight away from where he still was laid out, pressing his face against the spongy floor.

"So, what do you plan on doing for the rest of the day?" Arya asked, returning all the equipment back to its proper place.

"Apparently, a pre-emptive strike to ensure that all of the girls in my ‘little black book’ know that I don’t have an STD but I _do_ have a bitch for a sister." Rickon replied with no malice in his voice and Arya let out a laugh in response.

They had always spoken to each other in a way that made people think that they hated each other but it just amused Arya. He'd never speak to Sansa in the way he speaks to her but then she wouldn't speak to any of the boys the way she speaks to Rickon either; they were just cut from the same cloth in that regard Arya supposed. "Sounds like a good call." Arya smirked. "What else?"

"Ummmm...I don't know." Rickon replied, starting to look confused.

"Well, maybe you should think about it." Arya stated quietly, putting all the barbells back on the shelves. The silence continued so she chanced a glance at Rickon to see him eying her shrewdly, clearly unimpressed. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you little shit. I'm not saying anything you've not thought about yourself."

Rickon seemed to ignore her final words completely. "I never took you for a hypocrite. You used to hate when Mother would have Jon, Robb or Sansa to have a go at you on her behalf."

"I'm not having a go at you, am I? We're just talking." She placated but with a smirk and a derisive tone.

He just continued looking at her unconvinced. "Right, just talking."

Arya sighed and came to sit down on the floor next to him and he sat up in response. "Look, I'm really not trying to get on your back like Mother, okay? And this isn't about a job either because...well." Arya indicated herself with a laugh and he let out a little chuckle of his own. "I just think you'd be happier if you had something in your life that brought you a little satisfaction."

"I do have-"

"That doesn't involve you putting your dick in the local girls." Arya interrupted, exasperated. Rickon rolled his eyes but stayed silent. "You and I are more likely to get into trouble if we have nothing else to do." Arya smiled wryly at her younger brother, thinking that they resembled each other as much personality wise as little as they resembled each other physically. "Wolf Blood, Baby Brother; more commonly known as ADHD. We are more similar than you would like to concede."

Rickon just bobbed his shaggy head, saying nothing. Arya knotted her fingers in his auburn curls, pulling his attention back to her. "Maybe you could get a job at HP's? Just until you figure out what you want to do and where you want to go." Arya asked.

Rickon looked at her with his large grey eyes for a moment before blowing out a long breath. "Maybe. Sure."

It was as much acquiescence as Arya knew she was like to get so she said no more, happy with the progress.

"Porridge then?" She changed the subject expertly, making his head nod with the fingers she still had threaded through his hair, making them both laugh.

"Yeah." Rickon agreed.

They worked for a minute longer together, just to get everything in order ready for themselves for the next morning before exiting the mini-gym they had in the Manor to make their way towards the kitchen.

When Arya and Rickon turned the corner into the kitchen, it was to see their Mother wrapped tightly in their Father's arms as he swayed her back and forth, cooing soothingly in her ear while she sobbed and tears rang down her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" Rickon asked immediately before Arya could speak, panic clear in his tone.

Their Mother sniffled, taking her head from their Father's chest, wiping her nose on her hand and replying, "Nothing" before she even seemed to register the question.

"Dad?" Rickon asked their Father, knowing that their Father would be honest with them.

"No one’s hurt so you don't have to worry about that." Ned stated quickly, trying to appease the panic on Rickon's face as a matter of priority.

Rickon took a breath and his face relaxed slightly but his back remained tense, awaiting the rest of what his father had to say.

"Sansa called. She...it turns out that Shae...was trying to pull some sort of scam on her and Margaery and...well, she won't be acting as a surrogate for them anymore." Eddard stated grimly, Catelyn still pressed to his side and trying to calm herself.

"What sort of fucking scam?" Rickon asked hotly, stepping forward as his body tensed further.

Arya turned away and walked towards the sink to look out over the snow covered grounds.

"They don't know exactly what her plan was but Olenna had given Margaery some sort of contract for Shae to sign in regards to the surrogacy but she fled instead. Apparently, Sansa had already offered to pay her more coin when she spun some tale of a change of circumstances back in Norvos so they fear it would have been more of the same."

"Where's the bitch now?" Rickon asked and though Arya had her back to him, she knew that he was working himself up into a proper rage.

"They don't know-" Ned started but was cut off by Arya.

"How's Sansa?" Arya asked, not wanting to hear her Dad struggle to answer a question she knew the answer to perfectly well. "How did she sound, Dad?"

Her father did not answer straight away and she could imagine that he was scratching his beard as he tried to come up with the right words to say, as was his habit. "Upset." He got out finally. "But it sounded like she's coping; that Margaery's helping her and she's helping Margaery, as it should be." He concluded trying to sound optimistic.

She turned around to survey the room. Her Mother was still tucked under her father’s arm but her tears seemed to have stopped and she was now looking at Rickon with as much concern and agitation as her Dad was looking at her. Rickon just looked like he was about to burst out of his skin.

She averted her eyes from her father’s concern and made to walk away. "Come on, Rick."

"Where?" He damn near snarled at her.

"To the gym." She answered as she walked past him. "You look like you're about to hit something; better a punching bag than a wall."

Rickon said nothing, just shook out his great, shaggy head with a grunt but followed behind her, leaving her parents in the kitchen to stare after them.

*~*~*

_"Yes?"_

"Hello Grandmother."

_"Hello, Girl. About time. How did things go?"_

Margaery paused for a long moment, trying to get her voice not to waver. "Not well."

 _"Ah."_ Olenna then gave a long pause of her own. _"I'm sorry Margaery. I...I did not wish to be right."_

"I know Grandmother." Margaery replied softly.

 _"And Sansa?"_ Olenna prodded.

"She...she'll be fine. She just needs some time." Margaery answered, hoping that it was true.

Olenna made an acquiescing noise but said nothing else for a long moment. _"This isn't the end of it you know? You **will** find someone of better character who will do this for you."_

"I know." Margaery replied even though she wasn't so sure.

 _"Good. Well, thank you for calling me directly."_ Olenna stated primly but Margaery thought it too thin to disguise the fact that she was genuinely affected.

"You’re welcome." Margaery replied.

_Silence._

"Thank you. I suppose I wasn't shrewd enough in this instance." Margaery stated, letting the disappointment in herself echo in her voice.

 _"Margaery, people do not **choose** to be shrewd; it has been made a necessity based on past experiences so do not put yourself down for not having been made jaded enough. Let me be **'shrewd’** enough for the both of us, please."_ Olenna said in one of her rarer, softer moments.

Margaery nodded, feeling her throat close slightly before clearing it. "Yes, Grandmother."

_"Good girl."_

*~*~*

After quick ‘Hellos’ from Alerie and Mace to everyone, Garrett had been sent to play elsewhere in the house so the Tyrell’s could have a discussion.

“What’s going on?” Garlan asked, smile slipping from his face as soon as Garrett bounded from the room to play with Renly, knowing from his parents demeanour that something was off.

“Margaery.” Alerie answered, pausing to consider how exactly to explain things. She had never so keenly felt the vast distance that separated herself from her youngest child until that morning when she had heard her false calm through the phone, feeling an ache in her arms at not being able to hold her daughter in that moment. “Things did not go as planned with Shae. She was…a fraud. Trying to take the two of them for what she could get.”

“What?” Loras burst out perplexed, anger twisting his features to the closest thing to unattractive that he could achieve.

“She called this morning. Apparently, your Grandmother gave them some sort of contract for Shae and she fled before the ink dried.” Alerie remarked and though her stance was relaxed, legs crossed in her seat, the pull from her wine goblet was deep and her stare burned.

“How did she sound?” Willas asked finally, as it seemed that all Alerie, Garlan and Loras were capable of in that moment was glowering angrily.

Alerie was unable to answer, shaking her head in denial, her thick silver hair swaying wildly before she took a deep breath and emptied the goblet completely.

Mace leaned over to grab her hand, taking over the duty of telling everyone the situation. “She was…trying to be strong about it all.”

“Typical.” Garlan sighed, sounding put out as he shook his head.

“Do they know what they’re going to do next?” Leonette asked softly, speaking up for the first time.

Mace looked to Alerie for an answer but she was now staring vacantly off to the side. “She didn’t go into any further details. I believe they are…just trying to get through this.” Mace answered evenly.

No one said anything after that, the tense atmosphere inescapable. Thankfully, a few moments later Garrett came bursting into the room with Renly hot on heels but, clearly, unable to wrangle him before he burst through the door.

“Sorry.” Renly stated awkwardly, picking up on the tension in the room instantaneously.

“Mother, may I have _Ser Gallant_ , please?” Garrett asked, running up to Leonette, beaming smile in place.

Leonette smiled at him and stroked his cheeks before pulling his face towards hers to press thankful kisses to his tiny face while he squirmed in discomfort. Everyone else took that as their cue to stand up and leave the topic behind, Alerie leaving to check on dinner, Garlan and Willas going to get a drink and Loras joining Garrett and Renly for the rest of their game.

*~*~*

Dinner that Sunday was a solemn affair, Sansa's and Margaery's absence felt keenly by everyone. Ned thought it the most solemn meal he could remember around that table that didn't involve some sort of bereavement.

Robb's, Jon's and Bran's reactions fell on the continuum between Arya's deadly calm to Rickon's furious anger. Robb, always close to Sansa, had been angry on her behalf, his face twisting into an expression that was unrecognisable to his father. Bran looked genuinely lost and confused about why someone would do such a thing, the lad still slightly naive to the unfairness of the world despite his own experiences. Jon was almost as outwardly calm as Arya but his eyes had flashed as hot as Rickon's had before expressing concern for his sister.

In Ned’s opinion, Myrcella’s angry and bitter expression made her look more like her mother than ever to a point that it made him feel slightly uncomfortable but then Myrcella and Sansa had been fast friends for a good many years; she pulled her phone out immediately, presumably sending his eldest daughter a text message of support. Meera shook her head in disappointment but her focus and energy went immediately to comforting Bran, running a comforting hand over his head. Daenerys was newer to the fold but Ned could tell already that she was a very loyal person and her violet eyes had become angry and enraged on behalf of her future good sister, her small body somehow posing an intimidating figure in her ire.

Even the dogs seemed to be a bit quieter, missing their smallest litter mate.

It was a very subdued dinner indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forewarn you, in the next chapter we will be jumping forward...not like fifteen years or anything but still worth mentioning. Mentally prepare yourself now. ;D
> 
> *WC68*


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _very_ much looking forward to seeing the reaction to this chapter in particular because this was the first ever chapter I wrote of this story! Everything else was kind of worked backwards, including the prequels, so this is where **The Surrogate Universe began!**
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *WC68*

**_~Six Months Later~_**

Sansa was in the middle of cleaning the oven, head and shoulders buried inside, working on demolishing a particularly stubborn patch of grease in the back corner while listening to ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls through her earphones when her mobile started to ring, the sudden vibration in her pocket making her jump and bang her head on the roof of the oven. “Oww!” Her gloved hand reached up automatically to rub at it, when she remembered the grease caked on the glove. “Oh, crap.” She mumbled to herself as she disengaged herself from the oven and tried to snap the yellow gloves off fast enough to get to the call. “Hello?!” She panted the question into the phone, not reading the ID of the caller first.

“Sans?”

“Hey, Ar. What’s up?” She asked, still lightly short of breath.

“Are you having sex?” Arya asked uncertainly.

“What? I’m just in the house cleaning the oven. Margaery isn’t even here.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t still be having sex.”

“I’m not having sex!”

“Well, how enthusiastically do you have to clean a bloody oven to get out of breath?”

Sansa let a frustrated groan rumble out of her chest. “What do you want?” Sansa whined with little patience.

“I’ve been stood outside for five minutes banging the crap out of your door. You gunna’ let me in or what?” Arya questioned frankly.

Rather than answer, Sansa hung up the phone, got to her feet and headed to the front door. She swung the door open to reveal her younger sister pocketing her own mobile phone with her trademark smirk on her face. Arya took a moment to look Sansa up and down, taking in the sweat pants and plain vest that she knew Sansa thought appropriate attire for exercise, domestic work and nothing else. “Took you long enough.” Arya said in a drawl.

“Sorry.” Sansa replied drily, turning and walking back into the house, not looking to see if Arya was following her. “The sound of the doorbell doesn’t particularly carry well when you have your head buried in the oven!”

“You sure that’s all you had your head buried in? Or is ‘oven’ a euphemism for something else?” Arya asks with that annoying, smarmy look on her face that she, Robb and Bran wore so well. “HELLO MARGAERY!!!” She yelled unexpectedly.

Sansa jumped slightly, turning to face her sister with a mocking, raised eyebrow. “She’s at work.” She said quietly, for emphasis.

“Yeah, I know. Mum told me.”

“Well then why…” she groaned her frustration out again to hold back from saying more. No one could press her buttons half as well as her sister. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Cuppa’ tea’d be nice. You want one?” Arya asked, dumping her back pack and jacket on her kitchen table, before walking over to the kettle.

“Sure.” Sansa finished up the oven while they chit chatted and Arya informed her that she was in the area to meet up with Hot Pie in Winter Town for dinner. Sansa had asked Arya once what Hot Pie’s actual name was as Sansa thought it was a stupid nickname and refused to use it; Arya’s reply was that she didn’t know what Hot Pie’s real name was. _‘Typical!’_ She finished with the oven and sat down at the table just as Arya put two steaming mugs on the table.

“You got any lemon cakes or something?” Arya asked as she took a seat across the table from Sansa.

“You’re meeting Hot Pie for food in an hour aren’t you?” Sansa asked with a chiding tone reminiscent of their mother.

Arya just stared at Sansa expectantly. “And?”

“I don’t anyway. Sorry.” Sansa replied idly, looking down at her hands.

“I was asking rhetorically to be honest. You really don’t have any?” Arya asked disbelievingly.

Sansa shrugged noncommittally, still not meeting her sister’s eye. “We’re cutting down.”

Sansa was half expecting Arya to start ranting about her and Margaery’s diets and size the way she always did when she would see them eat a salad, unbelieving that people could _actually_ enjoy them. She looked up at Arya when a tirade did not immediately begin and saw that her sister was just sat there staring at her, an expectant look on her face with a smile to match. They stared each other out for about thirty seconds before Sansa’s face cracked into a returning smile, standing up to get her stash from the Museli cereal box that Margaery hated.

“’Adda girl.” Arya enthused when Sansa presented her with a couple on a plate. “How’s wifey?” Arya asked, taking a large bite out of her first cake.

Sansa’s smile was quick and strong as they often were when thinking of ‘wifey’. _‘For the rest of my life, I will never be able to **not** smile at that.’_ She thought. “Yeah, she’s good. She’s running a little low on inspiration at the moment for her art so she’s taking on a few more projects to get some more coins saved for the IVF. I mean, technically we’ve already got enough saved but you still need to be able to afford the actual babe after all of that.” Sansa laughed and smiled across the table but Arya’s returning smile was a bit delayed.

“Speaking of, how is the surrogate search going?” Arya asked somewhat dispassionately though her face was showing something else.

Sansa’s smile wavered. Arya never asked about the surrogacy. She would normally just get the updates from their Mother. “It’s…you know…not that good to be honest.” She started playing with the rim of her cup in discomfort. “It’s just…after the whole disaster of last time…I’m just a little bit dubious of trusting anyone else. I mean, I get that surrogacy is a big thing to do for someone, let alone a stranger, and you shouldn’t have to do it for nothing because, why would you?”

Sansa could see that Arya was shifting a bit in her seat uncomfortably and fiddling with her own cup but Sansa couldn’t stop herself venting. Sansa could feel a strong sense of relief that multiplied with every word that left her mouth. The only people she really spoke to in depth about the surrogacy was her Mother and Margaery but her Mother and Margaery were the two people that, unintentionally, made her feel the biggest sense of failure at not being able to have the babe the normal, traditional way…you know, with your lesbian lover.

By all accounts, her Mother had gotten pregnant as soon as her Dad’s trousers had hit the floor, not suffering in the least with the fertility issues that Sansa seemed to have inherited from her Aunt Lysa and Grandmother, Minisa. When it came to Margaery…it was strange because they were in the exact same situation but Sansa didn’t feel like Marge had let her down by not being able to carry for them, however, Sansa did for some reason. It just always felt like the thing she, Sansa, would do for them, even if it was never expressly said. Despite being a Tyrell, Sansa was the flower in the relationship and Margaery the gardener. _‘The flower is the one that gives birth.’_

“It’s going to be a child. Our child. The most…precious thing to me and Marge and we have to trust them with some stranger? I shudder to think what would have happened if we hadn’t given that contract to Shae before the IVF. She could have just run off with our babe! It keeps me up at night sometimes to be honest. I suppose we should be grateful Olenna is so shrewd.” Sansa muttered while biting her thumb nail.

“So, what’s next?” Arya pushed. Sansa shook her head to pull herself out of her morbid thoughts.

“Ummm…well, I think we’re going to keep looking but if it doesn’t work out next time, I think it might be best if we took a break from it all for a little while. Go on holiday to Dorne or something and have some time back to ourselves. The last two and a bit years have just been all stress and constantly thinking and planning and preparing for a babe without any of the joy of actually having one! Marge and I will probably have to have a conversation soon about setting ourselves a target before we…re-evaluate our strategy.” Sansa sent a weak smile at Arya that the younger Stark sister didn’t even try to reciprocate. “So, uh, depressing conversation over.” Sansa threw out with a awkward laugh. “How are things with you?”

Arya began to swirl the dregs of her tea and avoided looking directly at her. “Well, there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” Sansa sat up a little straighter in her chair at Arya’s hesitant tone.

“Yeah?” Sansa prodded after an extended silence.

Arya blew out a frustrated breath and moved into the seat to Sansa’s right. The sisters looked at each other for a moment while Sansa’s brow creased noticeably, giving her a confused expression that, Arya noted, made her resemblance to Robb striking. Meanwhile, Arya rubbed her neck in agitation before letting out another deep breath and placing her hand over Sansa’s on the table, squeezing tightly.

Arya opened her mouth to speak when a horrible thought struck Sansa like lightning. _‘Oh, my gods. What if she’s pregnant?! She looks sick and she never asks about the surrogacy. She always just gets the updates from Mother so she doesn’t upset me.’_ “Are you pregnant?” Sansa asks, unable to keep the look of horror off of her face as well as she had hoped.

Thankfully Arya bursts out laughing and Sansa could breathe again. “No! Seven save me, no!” Sansa let out a string of nervous tittering laughs, still trying to steady her heartbeat, feeling guilty about the level of jealousy that had reared up inside of her in that moment. Sansa purposefully tried to ignore whenever Arya would entertain their Mormont-Cousins with tales with whoever she’d let into her bed last but Sansa knew only too well that her sister was…active. Arya, at least, seemed less tense and let out a couple of more disbelieving chuckles into her hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You just looked a little bit green and because of the subject matter… Anyway, I’m sorry, what were you going to say?” Sansa tried to encourage now that her heart wasn’t in her throat.

“Ummm….” The colour slowly started to drain out of her cheeks again so Sansa lifted her left hand and putit on top of Arya’s, sandwiching it between her own before raising an expectant eyebrow. Arya huffed out a quick breath and rolled her eyes at herself before she spoke. “Sansa, I…I want to be your surrogate.”

The silence echoed. Arya dipped her head and raised her eyebrows expectantly at Sansa, awaiting some sort of response. Her fingers on the hand sandwiched between Sansa’s twitched and her palm started to sweat.

“Oh…Oh Arya.” Sansa let out a small sad, laugh before she could stop herself, instantly noticing the annoyed spasm of her sister’s face before she could school her features back to neutrality. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I know I don’t.” Arya intoned stubbornly with her jaw set.

“I mean… I wasn’t trying to guilt trip you just now by telling you that or anything. I’m sorry if I bummed you out…” Sansa said cautiously.

“Don’t be an idiot, Sansa.” Arya snapped, snatching her hand back. _‘Sisterly bonding moment over.’_ Sansa thought slightly miffed. “Do you really think that I just came over here randomly and because you gave me a lemon cake and a sob story I felt sorry for you and offered to carry your child on a whim?”

Arya had the annoying ability to lay things out in a way that made Sansa feel as stupid as people thought she must be because of her looks. “Well….I don’t…” Sansa attempted to recompose herself but her sister would not wait.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” Arya interrupted again with an intense look on her face.

“You…you have?” Sansa asked.

“Yes. That’s why I came over here today to talk about it. I knew that Margaery had a job and you had the day off.”

“Wha…” Sansa started before her throat clenched uncomfortably. “Why would you come now if you _knew_ Marge wouldn’t be here? This…offer is for the both of us.”

“No offence Sansa, but it’s not.” Arya answered with a small shake of the head. “Look, you know how I feel about Margaery. I love that mad cow.” Sansa couldn’t help but let out a huffing laugh at the fact that Arya was bantering with Margaery, even when her wife wasn’t there. “But you’re my sister and that’s why I’m making this offer, first and foremost.”

Sansa didn’t really know what to say. She didn’t know if she should say anything since she’d clearly managed to offend Arya once already. She was torn. Her total pain-in-the-arse, secretly sweet, loyal sister was sitting in her kitchen, telling her that she wanted to give her the missing piece of the puzzle for getting something she had dreamed of her entire life and in typical Arya fashion, she managed to squeeze it in innocuously over a cup of tea and a slab of cake. _‘Don’t get your hopes up Sansa.’_ She told herself. _‘As well intentioned as she is, Arya can’t know just how much of a big deal this is. She’d be putting her life completely on hold for at least a year if she did this.’_

Sansa was trying to process everything without rushing and for once Arya was sitting patiently and letting her. The two major battling thoughts were, _‘I can’t let my sister do this for me’_ and _‘This is exactly what I’ve been praying for’_. She looked into her sister’s grey eyes and took a breath. “Arya…” Sansa started, choosing her words carefully. “This…this is an amazing offer. I’m just a little worried that you don’t really…fully comprehend…just how much of a sacrifice this will be for you.” She said diplomatically.

“For example?” Arya drawled.

“Like…like a career!”

“I have enough coin from my investments left over to take some more time off still.” _‘Understatement Alert!_ Sansa thought benignly. “Besides, I’ve been looking into some courses that I could do at the College and that should coincide with Winterfell Police hiring next year. Or maybe the Night’s Watch, I’m not sure yet.”

“Night’s Watch?” Sansa asked surprised; she’d never heard her sister mention the Night’s Watch as an ambition before or a want to follow their brother into his chosen career path.

“Yes. Nights Watch.” Arya tilted her head, the stubborn set of her jaw back and a challenge in her voice.

“Okay.” Sansa conceded quickly with a placating tone before taking a long pause. “Mum will love that.” Sansa chuckled, thinking back on how disapproving their Mother had been about ten years back when the Night’s Watch had modernised and removed their gender requirement for service. _‘She’ll think it doubly inappropriate a change if this ever comes to pass!’_ Sansa thought fearfully.

“That’s why that’s just between me and you for now.” Arya said in a tone that was half beseeching, half threatening.

“Of course.” Sansa replied, trying to get her thoughts back on track. “Okay, well, pregnancy is a big deal to your body.” She ventured.

“Oh no.” Arya simpered with her deadpan snark. “Stretch marks mean I won’t be able to saunter around in bikini tops and short shorts anymore?”

“Well, what about meeting someone?”

“Pffft.” Arya clearly didn’t even deem that one worthy of a response. Her sister had never been interested in meeting someone. She’d gone from not being interested in boys, to having Gendry fall into her lap, to their weird, confusing breakup, to not being interested in men apart from the occasional…dalliance, as far as Sansa could tell from the stories she had desperately tried _not_ to hear from the Mormonts.

“What about…” Sansa started.

“Look, as much fun as this would be, to go through this whole push-and-pull with you, let’s just cut to the end.” Arya interrupted with little patience.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, having a babe is a big deal. And, you’ve never made any inclination that you’ve ever wanted to have your own children someday, let alone have someone else’s for them.” Sansa reasoned. A minute grimace crossed Arya’s face that Sansa couldn’t quite figure out.

“Well, I’m not really _having_ one am I?” Arya said. “I’m just the _incubator_.” Sansa still looked unconvinced and Arya let out a breath. “Sansa, since we were little, you have always talked about getting married and having babies; that’s always been your dream. You’ve got a hot wife so you’re halfway there. And you know what? That’s a lot closer than most people get to achieving their dream in their entire lives. But Sansa, you’re so close. You and Marge have the eggs, the boys have given the ‘Brother Butter’; all you need is the oven to cook the bun.” Sansa laughed at her analogy but grimaced at the churning ( _‘Yes, churning!’_ ) motion she had made when talking about the ‘Brother Butter’. _‘Ewwww.’_ “This is just a different road to get to the same destination.” Arya finished with such an earnest look on her face that it made Sansa want to cry.

“Arya, you might have the same problems that I do.” Sansa said trying to be delicate but firm.

“I don’t.” Arya said.

“But you don’t know, Ar.” Sansa reasoned.

“Actually, I do. I’ve seen a Maester and my womb has been given a 5-star hospitality rating.” Arya never failed to surprise Sansa.

“You have?” Sansa questioned.

“Yeah. I told you, Sansa, this isn’t an offer I’m making on a whim.” Arya replied.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Sansa asked slightly gobsmacked. Arya shook her head and seemed to think on it.

“Honestly? It’s been in the back of my head since you realised you’d need one. But I was in Essos and I wasn’t…really in the right frame of mind to do something like that for you then. But I am now.”

Sansa stared at Arya for a long moment, contemplating her little sister. “Why now?” She asked softly, genuinely curious. “The last…” Sansa started meekly then stopped, blowing out a breath of frustration, “…the last time was six months ago now.”

Arya bit her lip for a second before she caught herself, looking irritated at the unconscious gesture for some reason. “You told Mother the other day that you finally felt ready to consider it again.”

Sansa’s brow crinkled at that. “I didn’t think you could hear us.” She commented, at a loss of what else to say, not really thinking reprimanding her sister for eavesdropping appropriate in the circumstances.

“Well, I hear you even when you think I’m not listening.” If the words were said by anyone else other than Arya, Sansa might have thought they were picked carefully to echo another meaning; but it was Arya, so probably not.

“Wow. That’s…that’s a lot to take in.” Sansa said, somewhat shell-shocked.

“Well, I’m not expecting you to give me an answer right now.” Arya said incredulously. “This is a big fucking deal. Take some time to think on it. Figure it out for yourself first and then if it’s something you would…consider…then talk to Flower Power about it and let me know whenever. Take your time. There’s no expiry date on this offer, okay?”

“Okay then.” Sansa replied unsure.

“Cool.” Arya replied, downing the rest of her tea that Sansa guessed had gone cold by the grimace on her face, before looking at her watch. “Shit. I gotta’ go meet Hot Pie. The traffic’s a bitch at this time.” And just like that, faster than Sansa could blink, ‘normal-Arya’ was back, gathering her things in a tornado of activity. “Are you off home on Sunday for dinner?” She threw over her shoulder as she made her way out of the kitchen. 

Sansa struggled to organise her thoughts fast enough to follow Arya. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll be there. Marge’s parents are here this weekend visiting so we’ll all be there.”

“Cool.”

“Loras too.”

“Neat.”

“And her Grandmother.” Sansa added, awaiting the reaction.

“Awesome! I love that old crone! She kicks arse.”

“I thought that would make you happy.” Sansa replied calmly.

Suddenly they were back at the front door and Arya was acting so casual and blasé that Sansa had to genuinely consider that she may have imagined the whole conversation. _‘Am I on a ‘trip’ from expired lemon cakes? How long have they been there?’_

“See you Sunday then.” Arya said, pulling Sansa into the standard, short but powerful goodbye-hug.

Sansa arms came up to wrap themselves around Arya’s shoulders as she begun to drop her own but Sansa just held her tighter, pulling her sister tight to her own body and putting her face to her shoulder. “Thank-you.” Sansa mumbled into the spot where shoulder and neck merged. “Thank-you.” She spoke louder but no more clearly as her throat was closing up against her will.

Arya’s arms came back up to wrap around her waist and held her tight. Ridiculously tight. _Arya-Hug_ tight. Her ribs were aching a bit when Arya pressed a quick kiss to her shoulder and released her. “Alright then. Later.” Her sister said by way of goodbye as she pulled away from Sansa, colour high in her normally pale cheeks before turning to go.

“Bye.” Sansa called back, watching her sister clomp over to her motorbike, sling her leg over and get situated before speeding off, the rumbling echo staying with Sansa after Arya had left her sight.

*~*~*

Rickon and Lyanna were cuddled on his bed, looking up at the ceiling, Lyanna's feet tickling his shins and her elbow constantly knocking his newly formed six-pack and giggling.

"Ar's routine with you is clearly working...even if you do call me up all the time to talk about training and bitch about lack of sleep." She laughed.

Rickon threw a wolfish smile back at her. "You really think so, Lya?" Rickon smirked, lifting up his shirt slightly to show her what she had just been elbow-groping. She lifted her head to have a good look and he laughed at her appreciative nod. "Easy, She-Bear! I see that fiery passion, burning in your eyes." Rickon joked.

"Our relationship is far too important to sully with something as basic as sex." Lyanna responded casually before snuggling back into him.

“Yep.” His arms came back up around her and nodded to himself in grudging agreement. “I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about it though.” He replied cheekily.

“Oh, totally.” She responded lightly with a laugh and he squeezed his honorary sister tighter in response. "So, how is working at HP's?" She mumbled into his chest.

He thought on it for a second, idly scratching the stubble on his cheek. "I'm actually enjoying it." Lyanna's comically raised eyebrow and dubious look made him guffaw. "It's good there. The staff is cool and Hot Pie's a nice guy. People were a little bit wary when they found out my sister was a part owner of the place but I just gave everyone shots on a lock-in one night and they stopped caring."

"Maybe getting Hot Pie's staff pissed and consequently hungover isn't the best way to thank him, considering you like him so much and you’re not purposely trying to get canned.” Lyanna stated superiorly. “You're not _trying_ to get the sack, are you?"

"No!" Rickon insisted though his face twitched and Lyanna obviously noticed. She was about to call him out on it when he jumped in. "I just thought I'd pay Hot Pie for all the booze and that would be that but he refused to take anything for it...you know how he doesn't take money off of any of us because of Arya?" Lya nodded absently in acknowledgement. "Well I felt like a bit of a dick then because he looked a little...disappointed. Maybe not the best impression to make on the boss after my first shift."

"Ya’ think?" Lyanna asked sarcastically.

He smiled graciously at her. "Well he didn't rat me out to Arya when she asked him how my first shift had gone so...he's sound. I'm not going to muck him around again."

"Fair enough." Lyanna responded without judgement. “You’ve been working there five months and I’m only hearing this now for some reason though?”

“Like I said, he just let it go. But I was determined to be good to the bloke after that. Not my proudest moment, besides.” He replied with little enthusiasm.

“Awww. Look at you, all contrite. I almost didn’t recognise you!” She laughed, her ample bosom pressing intermittently against his ribs as she guffawed.

"Yeah well.” He shrugged, pushing the teasing aside coolly with little concern. “Besides, it's a cracking place to meet birds." He bantered back.

She rolled her eyes, as he knew she would and laughed heartily at her expense.

"Tool!" He squeezed her to his side tightly making her wriggle to get free. It took about thirty seconds of struggling but she managed to get out of his grasp and sat on his stomach, arms up in a mock-defensive stance which he responded to by throwing his own arms up in surrender.

There was a moment of silence and when Lyanna started to tap out a nonsensical rhythm on his chest, biting her lip and avoiding his eyes, Rickon knew she had something that she, reluctantly, wanted to say to him. "What?" He pushed slightly, his lack of patience not allowing him to wait.

"Shireen called the other day." Lyanna started warily.

Rickon shift under her uneasily and crossed his arms. "How is she?"

"Mmmmm. A bit bummed. She doesn't want to carry on at Dragonstone for Uni anymore but her Mother won't let her go anywhere else; wants her close." Lyanna told him with eyes that still managed to be sympathetic while being rolled at the mention of Stannis and Selyse.

Rickon rolled his eyes too in response, unsurprised. _‘Her parents were always too fucking controlling!’_ He spat in his own head. He suddenly wondered why Lyanna was telling him in the first place. “And?”

“And…” She started, looking pissed off at his attitude, “she’s feeling low and I think it would cheer her up to hear from you.” Lyanna stated harshly, her eyes daring Rickon to argue…which he did since he, apparently, had no self-preservation instincts.

“I’m not sure it’ll do…”

“I just told you it would, didn’t I?” She asked angrily. He just said nothing, looking out the window on the other side of the room. “Look, I’ve had enough of this. You’re _both_ my friends…”

“I’ve known you longer…” Rickon interrupted.

“…but enough is enough. You need to get over it.” She stated simply. Rickon said nothing for a moment, just stared at her, convinced that there was more coming because she couldn’t _seriously_ be saying that.

“Get over…” He started angrily, taking his arm away and sitting up.

“Yeah, _get over it_ Rick. You found the love of your life young, too young, and geography kept you apart. She still needs you, _has_ needed you since she moved and you didn’t step up to the plate like you should have and been there for her in whatever way that she needed.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Lya.” Rickon shouted angrily, standing to his full height and panting with anger.

“I was fucking there, remember dickhead?!” She started, climbing off of the bed herself and went toe-to-toe with him even if it didn’t make them eye-to-eye. “Her _arsehole_ parents moved to Dragonstone at the behest of her _arsehole_ uncle and then the _arseholes_ kept her in Dragonstone so you’ve not seen her since. But you could have been in her life. We were friends before you got together! All of us! But you _wouldn’t_ be her friend because you couldn’t be her boyfriend! And you know what? You doing that? I’ve been fucking _ashamed_ of you for it! She needed you to be her friend; just to be there for her and you fucking abandoned her to fend for herself!” Her voice finally started to crack at all the screaming and she wouldn’t break her stare with him even though he wanted to look at the floor in shame. “It was shit what happened to the two of you and I know you were heartbroken and her parents were arseholes about it but at the end of the day it was selfish! It’s time to stop being selfish, Rick.”

He grit his teeth and finally broke her stare, looking out of the window at the falling snow, not looking away even when he heard his bedroom door slam.

*~*~*

Margaery was completely wrecked. It was always the same thing when she went from a bit of a hiatus from work projects to going back full time. Her body would need another week or two to adjust. Her ‘Art Muse’ seemed to be on an extended holiday at the moment so she thought she may as well use the time to go back to more regularly paying work during the drought; her and Sansa could always use the extra coin. People often thought that because she was a Tyrell and Sansa was a Stark, that a Stark-Tyrell couldn’t possibly have money concerns. _‘Idiots’_. Yes, they each had a Trust but they were saving that for the arrival of the actual babe; hospital bills, formula, nappies, clothes, piano lessons, archery training, their first car, university and anything else that they might need. The truth was that they _were_ lucky enough to have parents that could, and would, bail them out if it ever came to it but they were not intending on letting it ever ‘come to it’. They had both always wanted to live independently of their families’ wealth.

Besides, Margaery liked to work. Maybe not in the political field her grandmother had always envisioned for her but she liked politics and loved her art and that was that. Margaery didn’t think Westeros was quite ready for a lady-loving, lady politician just yet anyway.

She got her key in the door and dumped all of her bags, satchels and cases on the floor as soon as she made it over the threshold, resigning herself to get a bit of a telling off from Sansa for it later. “I’m home, Sans!” Margaery shouted, shrugging her jacket off.

Silence followed. Margaery put her keys on the hook by the door and noticed Sansa’s key hanging there on its usual peg. _‘She should be here then.’_ “Sans!”

Nothing again. Margaery popped her head into the downstairs study that they used as a gym, thinking that she may have her earphones in for a workout; nothing. Bathroom; nothing. Living room; nothing except for a forlorn Lady on her bed in the corner, quiet and still as Ghost despite Margaery’s cooing and petting. Kitchen; two dirty mugs on the table and nothing else. There was only the bedroom left to check so she made her way there but was flummoxed when that too was empty. _‘She wouldn’t be in the glass gardens would she?’_ Margaery thought, confused. That was _her_ domain after all, her wife only going in there to get ingredients for cooking which she clearly wasn’t doing based on the sight in the kitchen. She turned to go check anyway when she heard a small splash come from the en-suite. _‘Aha!’_

When she walked into the bathroom, the room was lit only by candles and an overwhelming scent of lilacs hung in the air. The humidity hit her like a wall as she entered and she spied Sansa’s auburn head propped up on the bath that was filled with frothy bubbles. At first, Margaery thought it might just be her Name Day. Sansa’s hair was wet, turning it darker still to russet, and plastered to her scalp with a light blush staining her cheeks from the heat. Margaery smirked and took a confident step forward but before she could go further she noticed the glazed look in Sansa’s normally expressive deep, light blue eyes and a glass of wine pressed against one of her overheated cheeks. _‘Oh, crap.’_ If Sansa was relaxing, the components were bubble bath, hot chocolate and music. Bubble bath, alcohol and silence equalled something else altogether though Margaery couldn’t figure out just yet what that was exactly.

She stepped forward cautiously, rolling up her sleeves. “Sansa?” She continued to gaze emptily down at the taps of the tub. Margaery kneeled down on the floor next to her head and pressed a soft kiss to the cheek that didn’t have her glass resting against it. Sansa jumped slightly making the bath water slosh dangerously close to the rim of the tub, turning her now alert eyes to Margaery’s. “Sorry.” Margaery said softly. “I did call out.” She said by way of explanation. “You okay?”

“Mmmm.” Sansa assured with a shaky nod of the head before averting her eyes again. Margaery had been with Sansa long enough to be able to narrow it down to either Sansa was overwhelmed or upset about something. When Margaery couldn’t get Sansa to _tell_ her which one it was, she normally applied another tactic; if she responded she was upset and needed a distraction and if she was overwhelmed, she would shut Margaery down physically but normally start talking.

Margaery shifted up onto her knees as Sansa took a big gulp from her wine glass. “You look so cute covered in bubbles.” Margaery purred, beginning to lightly trace Sansa’s collarbones with the tip of her middle finger and moving her lips to her wife’s temple, placing feather light kisses there. Sansa’s long legs shifted under the bubbles and her breath began to catch in her chest; Margaery was hopeful of where this might be leading. As she started to let the pad of her finger drift down to the valley between Sansa’s breasts, Sansa raised her hand from her side and gripped Margaery’s tight, stroking it with her thumb and bringing it to her rest on her neck, pinning it there with her chin. _‘Ah, overwhelmed it is then.’_ Margaery thought, only slightly disappointed.

Sansa blindly put her wine glass on the floor at the side of the tub and finally looked Margaery in the eye. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” Margaery replied calmly, lifting the hand not being held in a death grip now by both of Sansa’s to card slightly through her damp hair, scratching her scalp affectionately.

Sansa began playing with Margaery’s fingers distractedly and chewed on her lip. “Arya came over earlier.” Sansa started.

“Okay.” Margaery drew out, unsure of the significance. Sansa and Arya often bickered when together and could have an all-out screaming match over nothing when left alone unsupervised. Indeed, her good-sister could draw out a type of frustrated anger in her normally sweet-natured wife that Margaery had never seen rivalled by anything else in the near decade that she had known her. But this didn’t feel like that.

Sansa huffed out a quick breath and sat up straight in the bath, twisting her body to look at Margaery more fully which was horribly distracting for Margaery, who was doing her best _not_ to focus on the suds slowly but steadily snaking a path down her wife’s chest in her periphery vision. Sansa drew her attention firmly back to her face by kissing the hand she still had clasped in her own and now looked like she was trying to contain a smile. “Marge, she wants to surrogate for us.”

Margaery had not been expecting that and stayed silent trying to comprehend what her wife was saying. “Arya?”

“Yep.” Sansa answered.

“Your sister, Arya Stark?” Margaery repeated.

Sansa laughed. “Yes, my sister, Arya Stark.”

“What…where did this come from?” Margaery choked out.

“She just…came over this afternoon unannounced, as usual, and slipped it in over a cup of tea like it was nothing!” Sansa trilled, sounding in shock.

“Was she serious?” Margaery questioned.

“She sounded deadly serious. I know Arya can be rash and impulsive but when she plans something, she does it right, it’s thorough and meticulous and it sounds like she’s been planning this for a while. She’s even gone to a Gynaecology Maester already and been given a ‘5-star womb rating’.” Sansa quoted and Margaery let out a bark of laughter. _‘ **So** Arya!’_ “Well?” Sansa said nervously, squeezing Margaery’s hand reflexively, “What do you think?”

Margaery was silent for a moment, running her knuckles over her own lips in her rarely seen nervous tick. “Well…I…what do you think?” Margaery deflected.

Sansa let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I…it would be kind of perfect wouldn’t it? I mean, after everything with Shae,” Sansa started and Margaery felt her face contort in rage at the woman’s name for causing herself and Sansa such heartache, for making her Sweet Girl cry. _‘Money-grabbing bitch!’_ “I…I was really starting to question whether I could go through that again. What she…did. Whatever she was planning to do. I mean, you can never know with a stranger can you? We would be handing a stranger _our everything_ and just hoping they don’t smash it. But Arya isn’t a stranger. I trust her with my life. And I’d trust her with our baby.” Sansa looked so sincere, certain and earnest, her deep blue eyes sparkled as she spoke.

Margaery managed to wiggle her thumb out of Sansa’s grip to stroke over her wife’s fingers whilst lifting her other hand to rest on Sansa’s cheek, using her thumb to stroke over the redhead’s eyebrow. “Well, I suppose that says it all then.” Margaery intoned with a smirk.

Sansa’s eyes went wide. “Really? Just like that?”

“I think you’ve said it best, Sans. If you think Arya’s serious and that she can handle it and you can deal with it then that’s all I need to know.” Margaery rebutted simply, confident that she did not feel any nagging reservations like she had last time.

“So, we’re doing this then?” Sansa asked, barely able to contain her excitement.

“We found our surrogate.” Margaery answered.

Sansa let out a loud, happy squeal that echoed loudly off of the tiled walls and bounced back at Margaery, making her beam. Sansa threw her soapy arms around her neck and pulled Margaery towards her and into the tub, the water sloshing heavily over the sides like a tidal wave. Margaery let out a surprised yell that morphed into an excited string of giggles, gripping her foamy wife and planting an ecstatic chain of kisses on her eager, smiling mouth.

*~*~*

The phone started to chirp and vibrate loudly on the bedside table near Arya’s head and she jerked violently in bed. _‘I hate that fucking ringtone.’_ She reached out blindly for the cabinet without opening her eyes, slamming her hand down on empty air and nearly falling out of bed.

“Fuck!” She cursed, finally relenting and opened her eyes. She snatched her phone off of the side table without looking at the screen and barked into the phone, “What?!”

 _“Such a gentle and sensitive soul you are Arya.”_ Margaery’s voice snarked through the phone.

“Eurgh. What do you want, Flower Power?” There were noises of shuffling and laughing down the line and Arya rolled her eyes, waiting for someone to get back on the phone.

 _“Ar?”_ Sansa’s voice appeared on the line.

“Yes. What?” Aarya snapped.

 _“You’re in a good mood.”_ Sansa sarcastically remarked.

“I was asleep, Bitch. What. Do. You. Want? Or did you call me at,” she consulted the phone’s screen, “midnight just so that I could listen to you two _frolic_ down the phone?”

 _“Well, when Marge got home from work I told her about…you know…your offer?”_ Sansa started.

“Okay.”

 _“Well, if it still stands…yes!”_ Sansa said excitedly.

“Magical.” Arya replied calmly. Sansa laughed down the phone, either through happiness or in response to Arya’s unaffected answer.

 _“Since Marge’s family is here this weekend, we thought we’d tell everyone at dinner on Sunday, together, unless you have a problem with it?”_ She asked.

“No. That sounds fine to me.” Arya replied.

_“Great! Okay then. We’ll see you Sunday afternoon!”_

“Just one question.” Arya rushed in before Sansa could hang up.

 _“Yeah?”_ Sansa questioned.

“If you told Margaery about this when she got home, then why are you only ringing me now?” Arya asked innocently.

 _“Ummmm…”_ Sansa drew out.

“Go on. Say it. It will make me happy.” Arya teased mischievously.

Sansa huffed down the phone in faux irritation. _“We were having sex!”_ Sansa answered loudly with Margaery’s surprised peel of laughter bursting out in the background.

“Hah! Goodnight my favourite lady-lovers.”

 _“Night!”_ They chorused.

Arya hung up the phone and rolled back over onto her side, facing the wall. After about ten seconds Arya’s grey eyes popped open again and she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She took a deep breath and began to card her fingers through her hair. “Rovaja qrugh.” She murmured in disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Anyone surprised or has it been embarrassingly obvious from the start? Am curious to hear your thoughts.
> 
>  **Translation** : Rovaja qrugh= Biggest Shit
> 
> *WC68*


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing a week, guys! I did announce on my Tumblr that I wouldn't be able to post last week as I was on my first holiday for a couple of years and didn't have the facilities to do so! I'll make it upto you in the next couple of days. ;D
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *WC68*

Rickon was sat on his bed having a staring competition with his phone, a fuzzy grey towel wrapped around his hips, shaggy hair wet, making droplet snake a path down his back and torso.

_‘You can do this, Stark. Grow a fucking pair, Man!’_

He was glaring at his phone’s screen, the word _Shireen_ lighting up and mocking him.

When Rickon was about four years old, Robert Baratheon had moved his family up North to set up a new main office for Stag Industries in Winterfell, a move primarily driven by the much reduced tax rate paid by those in the North. **”It’s meant to encourage growth of new businesses as opposed to major conglomerates already established in other regions of Westeros but…whatever.”** Rickon recalled Robb sniping more times than he could count. Around five years after that, Robert demanded that his younger brother, Stannis, move North from the Storm’s End offices and the supervisory position, that he had successfully been fulfilling, to work in a more subordinate role directly under Robert’s supervision; with Stannis came his wife and only child, Shireen.

Lyanna, on one of her frequent trips to Winterfell, had taken to Shireen immediately one day when they had all run into each other in the park and the three of them had become inseparable. They became even more attached a couple of years later when Lyanna had requested that she be allowed to live in Winterfell with Dacey so that she could attend Winterfell Preparatory School with Rickon and where Shireen had already been attending for a year. Those years had been the best of Rickon’s life. He had his friends, most of his siblings were still in Winterfell and life was great.

When Rickon and Lyanna were sixteen, Robert Baratheon had decreed another move for Stannis, this time taking him South-East to Dragonstone. Shireen had cried when Stannis told her and was inconsolable for a full week. She and Rickon had been a couple for nearly two years at that point. Shireen had begged and Myrcella had even said that Shireen could live with her and Robb so that her cousin could finish her final year of school and stay with her friends but Stannis and Selyse refused to be separated from their daughter. So, Shireen got sent away and Rickon got angry.

He hadn’t spoken to her in the two years that followed. He had told her that he would keep in touch because he knew that she needed to hear it but it wasn’t the same and he resented that things were different so eventually stopped calling her, then stopped answering until she stopped trying. She still sent him a card during the holidays and for his Name Day and it always made him feel like a total dick.

_‘Because you are one.’_ He thought accusingly.

The two years since had been a steady slew of girls who hadn’t given him two looks when he was a weedy kid with half his teeth missing, always covered in dirt and always getting into trouble for fighting, in an attempt to feel just a sliver of what he had felt when he had had Shireen there with him.

Shireen had been his first. _‘First of many now.’_ He thought to himself, feeling slightly ill at having thoughts of all the nameless, nothing girls and Shireen intermingling together. _‘It’s like comparing a Rembrandt to a finger-painting.’_ He thought with disbelieving disgust.

_‘But Lya’s right. I’ve been a complete fucking arsehole and left Shir alone when she needed me. It ends now.’_ He thought to himself resolutely before pressing ‘Dial’.

The phone chirped its daunting ring in his ear for a long, agonising moment. Rickon was convinced that the answerphone would soon kick in and was debating on whether to leave one or not when the ringing finally stopped.

_“Hello?”_ Shireen’s voice greeted softly. Despite the questioning inflection and slight confusion in her tone, Rickon reckoned she knew it was him.

“Shir?” She replied softly, so softly it tickled the back of his throat and made him cough slightly. “It’s me.” He stated.

_“Wow, Rick. Oh my gods, it’s **so** good to hear from you.”_ She enthused and the sincerity in her sweet voice made him feel like even more of a douche.

“Yeah. It’s great to hear your voice too.” He replied then panicked. ‘Shit, she didn’t even say that. She said ‘good to hear from you’, not ‘great to hear you voice’, you dull twat!’ “How’s things?” He pressed forward quickly in an attempt to distract her.

_“Oh, you know…”_ She started enthusiastically then trailed off at the end, seemingly not being able to put it into words. _“What about you? What’s new with you?”_

_‘What a question.’_ He thought drily, thinking that he didn’t really have that much to say. “Oh, I…uhhh…I got a job at H.P.’s.”

_“Oh, cool!”_ Shireen enthused, sounding genuinely happy for him.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not much…” He tried to downplay it though she wouldn’t let him.

_“Yes it is, Rick! Do you know how many people in our circle will just sit around and do nothing, perfectly content to sleep in all day and spend their parent’s money, not contributing anything?”_ She pressed hotly, clearly unimpressed by ‘those people’.

Rickon crossed his legs a little defensively, overly aware that he was one of ‘those people’ not even six months ago. “Cheers. So, really Shir, how are things going? How’s Uni?” He pressed again, trying to make his tone encouraging.

She sighed softly but said nothing for a long moment. _“So, Lya told you to call me then?”_ She retorted accusingly, an edge of bitterness creeping into her tone.

The only lie he had ever told Shireen was that he would keep in touch, knowing that it would be too hard for him; he intended on that remaining the only lie he would ever tell her. “She told me that you were having a bit of a rough time of it at the moment and that you could do with having someone to talk to but I don’t do anything unless I want to; you know that.”

There was a tense quite for several seconds before she let out a reluctant laugh. _“That’s for damn sure.”_

He laughed in response to hers; there was no other way that you _could_ respond to it.

_“Oh, Rick. I don’t want to be here. Dragonstone isn’t for me. My parents…well, my Mother wouldn’t even let me go into student accommodation, even though it’s complimentary. Insisted I stay at home with her and Father.”_ She sighed long and mournful. _“We had it all planned out, didn’t we? Why couldn’t they just let us have it?”_ Shireen asked sadly.

They had had it all planned out. The three of them, Lyanna, Shireen and himself, were going to get a flat in Winter Town, near the Uni so that Shireen could get her Mathematics degree and Lya and Rickon could do…something; even then he hadn’t known what he wanted to do after school was done.

“I don’t know, Shir.” He replied gently, knowing he could never give the answer he really wanted to. _“You’re parents are arseholes.”_

_“Anyway,”_ She huffed softly, sounding incredulous that they had spent so long speaking about her, _“if you don’t think working at HP’s is much, even though I disagree, what is it that you want to do?”_

“Oh…” He drawled awkwardly, “I don’t really know…yet…still.” He finished lamely.

_“That’s okay, Rick. You’ll get there.”_ She replied softly and he could hear the certainty as well as the sweet smile that he loved in her voice.

*~*~*

The past week had gone by in such a mad rush between work and her family visiting that neither Margaery nor Sansa had been able to see or even really speak to Arya since their midnight phone call. They had managed a couple of whispered conversations between the sheets of their bed late at night, trying desperately not be overheard by Loras who was sleeping in the guest room but that was it. Even now, driving to Sansa’s parent’s house, Loras was sitting in the back seat of the car idly chatting to her while her parents and grandmother followed behind. She was doing her best to act casual but by the look on Loras’ face as she made eye contact with him in the rear view mirror, she was failing stupendously.

It had always been really hard to keep anything from her family; they were generally quite an open bunch. _‘I suppose it comes from having such a hippy-ish mother.’_ Margaery thought with a fond smile on her face. Her mother. That’s another one she wasn’t fooling. Her grandmother had always only needed one look at Margaery to tell if she had done something wrong and would force the issue but her mother was the one with the bloodhound nose for secrets. She always explained it as, _“The aura of secrets messes with my chi.”_

The conversation was slowly dying a death when Sansa finally pulled up to the gates of Winterfell Manor. Sansa took her usual space in the courtyard and Margaery noted that everyone else’s cars were in their usual spaces already so they were clearly the last to arrive today. She got out of the car and went to the boot to let Lady out. Lady hopped daintily out of the car before, less daintily, jumping up on Margaery, licking her face. Margaery let out a string of giggles, stroking Lady’s thick coat. “Such a good girl.” She praised in her ‘talking to animals/babies voice’. Loras and Sansa were now out of the car also and her father’s car had pulled up next to theirs.

Sansa came up beside her and grabbed Lady under her front legs, kissing the top of the great dog’s head. “Down, Lady.” She could hear the front door to the Manor open and Bran’s voice shouting, “They’re here, Mother!” before the clamouring sound of all the wolves running out to the courtyard assaulted her. 

Her Grandmother gave a disdainful sniff at the Stark’s wolves running so close to her as they all swooped in to welcome their sister. Sansa idly petted them all as they ran around her in a flurry of excitement. The Tyrell’s began to make a quick dash for the house, still unfamiliar and somewhat uncomfortable around all the dogs while Margaery hung back near the car with Sansa. “Go on in.” She shouted over the din of barks and howls. “We’ll be in in a sec.” Except for her mother, they all carried on without breaking their stride. Her mother threw a questioning look over her shoulder but carried on walking at a lesser pace.

Margaery let out a long, laboured breath, leaning against the car, pulling Sansa towards her by the hips and resting her forehead on Sansa’s collarbone. Sansa let out a small laugh before lifting her arms around Margaery’s shoulders and stroking her hair. “I’m sure Loras and Alerie know something’s up.” Sansa started, rubbing her thumb across the base of her skull, making Margaery purr into her skin quietly. “I felt like I was being so rude to him in the car but…you know I don’t have a very good poker face.”

Margaery laughed at the understatement. “I know.” She said, placing a soft kiss on Sansa’s shoulder. “Did we actually manage to make a decision on how we were going to go about this?”

“I think we just decided to go with, _whenever the opportunity presents itself_ , didn’t we?”

“Mmmmm.” Margaery replied noncommittally, burrowing deeper into Sansa’s shoulder.

“Hey guys.” Arya’s voice suddenly sprung from nowhere.

Sansa and Margaery both jerked at the unexpected intrusion.

“Seven save me, Arya!” Sansa snapped while Margaery looked up to see her good-sister leaning on the car casually next to her. “Where the bloody hell did you come from?”

“The house.” She deadpanned. “Sorry.” She apologised with a smirk, not looking the smallest bit contrite at alarming them.

While her sweet wife started to send death glares at her sister, Margaery detangled herself from Sansa to turn towards her good-sister, sending Arya her own smirk. The younger Stark was sometimes barely recognisable from the girl she had been when she had left for Essos. This Arya now walked with more confidence, her head held high but a weariness in her eyes that had not been there before…well, not be before she left, but before Gendry. The idea of Arya being able to sneak up on anyone three years ago would have been laughable. As agile and athletic as her good-sister was, finesse was something she sorely lacked (physically and emotionally) and you could hear her stomping steps before she got within twenty yards of you. Now she moved with stealth and could sneak up on you like death itself. _‘Quite unnerving really.’_ ’ She often wondered what Arya had really gotten up to in her time away from Winterfell. Her answers were always frightfully vague whenever anyone would dare ask for specifics.

“Ah, there’s my sweet, sweet, good-sister.” Margaery drawled and wrapped her arms around Arya tightly to which she responded with a few firm thuds on Margaery’s back. Arya dropped her arms but Margaery kept hers wrapped around Arya’s shoulders for a few seconds longer before breaking away. “This is a really big thing you’re doing for us. We’ll never forget it.”

“You’re not getting all sappy on me, are you Flower Power? I need another cynic in the house with me to keep the numbers up.” Arya replied with a wry smile.

Margaery let the smirk firmly settle back onto her face. That was probably the closest thing to a ‘moment’ her and Arya were ever like to have. When you have two people not comfortable with vocalising their emotions, one or both would normally manage to prevent such a moment from blossoming too regularly.

“Cynicism firmly back in place. So, are you still ready to do this today?” Margaery asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Any particular course you were gunna’ try to slip it in between?” Arya asked.

“We’re just going to play it by ear.” Sansa replied.

“Alrighty then. Shall we?” Arya replied.

“There you are!” Rickon’s voice boomed from the doorway. “What the fuck are you three nattering about?”

“Vaginas, Rick! We’re talking about vaginas!” Arya boomed back.

“What? Have you managed to go through all the penises in Winterfell that you need to switch to vaginas for a spell while the male species repopulates?” Rickon boomed back jovially.

“If that was the plan I’d have to go as far as Last Hearth before I could find a Lady Garden your nasty, little todger hasn’t been near, you filthy, filthy whore!” Arya shouted back with a smile.

“ARYA!!!! RICKON!!!! We have guests!” Catelyn Starks annoyed voice shouted loudly from behind Rickon.

Arya started to walk quickly back towards the house, shouting a reply to her mother. “It’s only the Tyrell’s, Mother. They’re married into us now. It’s too late to escape.”

Sansa shook her head in exasperation after her siblings but Margaery could see the underlying fondness. “Shall we?” Sansa asked somewhat timidly looking into Margaery’s eyes.

Margaery pushed up slightly to place an encouraging kiss on her wife’s lips. “Let’s do this.” Margaery pushed away from the car and made towards the manor, grabbing Sansa’s hand and pulling her along behind her.

*~*~*

Sansa’s stomach was rolling throughout dinner, trying to keep her face impassive and failing based on the odd glances Bran and her father were throwing her way. Jon had even managed to make it for dinner today with Dany in tow. Jon told them how he was finding being based in Westeros again, Loras spoke about an audition he was waiting for a call back for, Rickon talked, with a small smile of pride at how work was going at HP’s at their mother’s prodding while Bran told everyone about his training for his charity climb of The Wall in a few months’ time, making her mother go a little green. _‘His climbing always made her nervous.’_ Sansa remembered. _‘I wonder if this child will make **me** bite my nails like Bran did for my mother, or drive me up the wall like Arya did?’_ Sansa smiled happily to herself at the thought, her belly now settling a little.

The selection of pastries, tarts and sweet biscuits for dessert were nearly completely demolished when Margaery signalled to Sansa by squeezing her thigh. Sansa glanced surreptitiously to her right at Margaery who raised a questioning eyebrow. Sansa licked her upper lip nervously and gave a small nod, looking around the table, trying to steel her nerve.

“Um…” She coughed nervously, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Uh…Margaery and I…well…we have some news.” She placed her hand over Margaery’s on the table. Margaery squeezed her hand back and smiled encouragingly. Everyone was now looking at them expectantly except for Arya who was wiping her mouth with her napkin, for the first time _not_ looking completely unaffected by the whole thing. “Well, we’ve found a surrogate.” Sansa revealed, choosing to get into the announcement quickly. _‘No ketchup jokes this time around.’_ Sansa thought to herself.

There was a brief pause where everyone seemed to look at each other to judge what their reaction should be. _‘Hmmm…not as enthusiastic as last time.’_ Sansa noted unhappily.

Her mother was the first to recover. Catelyn stood from her seat and walked over to Sansa and Margaery with a beaming smile on her face. “Congratulations, Darlings.” Sansa stood up to embrace her mother tightly, meeting her eyes with an identical smile and an excited giggle as they pulled back. She saw that Alerie was bent over Margaery giving her a similar hug.

“I just hope this time goes better than the last.” Olenna sniped before offering any congratulations.

“It won’t be like last time, Grandmother.” Margaery said patiently before Loras folded her in his arms.

“Well, make sure you get a signature on that contract before you both get your hopes up too much, that’s all I shall say.” Olenna said confidently, holding up her hands as if washing them of the whole thing.

“Mother…” Mace said with a warning tone.

“I don’t actually think we’ll be needing the contract this time around Olenna.” Sansa said from underneath Ned’s arm.

“What?” Robb asked, an earnest and confused look on his face.

“What if this woman’s a total bitch like the last one?” Rickon asked, Catelyn not even bothering to reprimand him, an identical crease of worry in her brow.

“Oh, she is.” Margaery replied, with a resigned look. “Borderline psychopath, socially inept, swears like a sailor and would drink one under the table. But we know where she lives so we’re not too worried.” Everyone’s faces have contorted in horror while Margaery just smirked over at Arya. 

“Careful,” Arya warned, “or I won’t rent out my uterus to you for ten months.”

The horrified look did not immediately retreat from everyone’s faces.

“You?!” Rickon gasped. “You’re going to surrogate for them.”

“Yeah. Don’t sound so fucking horrified.” Arya snapped back in irritation.

“Arya!” Catelyn scolded half-heartedly, clearly in shock herself.

Ned began walking slowly towards Arya, sharing a quick, meaningful glance with Catelyn. Arya sat up a little straighter in response, as their Dad considered her quietly, grey eyes meeting grey. “We’re just a little concerned Arya. We didn’t think you’d ever even thought about having children.”

“Sweet Stranger!” Arya groaned, casting a look at Sansa, standing on the other side of the table, who made her way over to her sister’s side at her semi-pleading look. “Why is everyone struggling with this bit? I’m not _having_ one. It’ll be their kid. I’m just the Baby Buggy…and the most awesome fucking Aunty ever!”

“This is a very big thing Arya.” Her mother prodded cautiously. “I just worry that…well, you’ve not fully grasped what it will mean for you.”

“Do you really think I’ve not said all of these things to her already?” Sansa piped up on her sisters behalf, standing protectively now at Arya’s side, between her and their parents, slightly defensive at the insinuation that Sansa had eagerly accepted the offer with no consideration for her little sister.

“This is a _very_ big thing to ask of your sister…” Catelyn began.

“I didn’t _ask_ her!” Sansa snapped back, defensively.

Bran, ever the mediator, stood up, putting one hand on Sansa’s shoulder and the other on their Mother’s. “Let’s just have everyone take a breath for a second.” He put in soothingly, ensuring that both his Mother and Sister took a needed breath before continuing. “Seems to me that these three wouldn’t have gotten to the point of telling us if they weren’t 100% convinced of the course of action, so maybe, for now, congratulations are enough.” Brans said, meeting eyes with Ned and Catelyn. Bran had always been a voice of reason, able to jump in and calm any rare family argument before it could escalate…except for when Arya and Rickon argued; nothing could stop that.

Her parents threw one last look at each other, seemingly acquiescing with their son’s point. Time seemed to move normally again after Bran wrapped Sansa and Margaery into a big, bear hug with whispered congratulations and everyone seemed to begin to talk again. Bran was now hugging Arya who was still seated and smilingly, whispering something to her which made her laugh.

“I’ve got to ring Willas and Garlan now.” Margaery piped up excitedly. She held up two clenched fists to Loras; after a mock pause for deliberation, Loras slapped her right fist. Margaery held her fist up, “Willas first, then Garlan.”

Everyone took their seats again around the cluttered table. “The first Stark: Next Generation coming from you two then?” Robb put in with a smile, playing idly with Myrcella’s fingers. This was of course, news to no one; in fact, if the first Stark pup came from anyone else, it would have likely been a Baby Snow courtesy of Rickon. _‘Let’s not jinx it!’_ Sansa thought to herself desperately.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Sansa replied across the table, with an uncontainable smile.

“Mental!” Rickon boomed from his seat with a shrug of his shoulders. At Sansa’s look, he clarified. “Not you being a parent or anything. You’re so much like Mother it’s not hard to see you as _a_ mother at all.”

“Who do you think’s going to be the strict one? Her or Marge?” She asked to the table at large before bursting out laughing, the rest of the Stark siblings laughing with her…except for Sansa. Sansa eyed them all with a shrewd raise of the eyebrow that was so reminiscent of Catelyn Stark that all her sibling’s laughter died off awkwardly after only five seconds.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” Sansa asked, annoyed. _‘Like because I’m a teacher I must be some sort of strict, totalitarian, buzz kill?!’_ Sansa thought, miffed.

Her brothers and sister all threw awkward glances at each other, seemingly realising slightly too late that the comment, and the following laughter, scraped too close to a previously unknown sore spot.

“Well?” Sansa asked expectantly, surveying each of them in turn while noting idly that all of her good-family seated at the table, and her parents, were biting their lips not to laugh at the turn in events.

Suddenly, they all got their voices back at once and began to scatter like cockroaches.

“Look at these plates just sitting here, Bran! We have guests!” Arya put in loudly in over dramatic dismay, getting up and collecting the plates, quickly and indelicately.

“Yeah, really…unbecoming.” Bran chirped, loading his arms also before following Arya into the kitchen.

“No one’s fed the dogs yet, have they?!” Jon asked with a faux carefree smile and practically ran in the kitchen after them.

“Is that the door?” Rickon asked, leaping from his seat.

“Work’s calling.” Robb hollered, jumping up and fleeing.

Sansa was up too, chasing them down, trying to corner one of them to interrogate while everyone else just laughed.

*~*~*

“This is nutters!” Rickon announced with awe in his voice, launching a stick through the trees for all of the dogs to chase after.

“Seven save you, _don’t_ let Sansa or Arya hear you say that.” Jon pleaded softly, eyes flicking back to Danaerys’ silver head every minute or so whom was walking through the trees with said sisters.

“Yeah, they seemed a wee bit sensitive about it after the announcement.” Robb put in gently. “Good thing Baby-Brother-Bran was on hand to smooth things over, as usual.” Robb put in with an easy smile, reaching up to muss Brans hair.

Bran gave an identical smile and laughed, shaking off his big brother’s hand good naturedly. “I know what you mean though, Rick. I can’t say I’m too surprised though.” He started, throwing a look through the trees at Sansa and Arya who were arguing quietly, Sansa trying to put her coat on Arya while she tried to shrug it off. In the end, it appeared that Arya gave up on debating the point and instead ran ahead with Nymeria, leaving Sansa to huff in frustration after her while Dany and Myrcella bit down on their smirks. “We were able to help Sans and Marge; are we really surprised that she would want to do the same?” Bran asked softly and his brother’s all nodded in agreement.

Suddenly Bran was tackled to the snow with a soft huff. “What’s the fucking sewing circle nattering about over here then?” Arya asked with a laugh, pinning Bran to the floor before rubbing snow into his hair.

Bran groaned lightly at being taken down by his tiny sister as effectively as any scrum-half. “Crazy…woman.” He choked out, clearly winded.

“Are you calling me ‘crazy woman’ or saying you were talking about a ‘crazy woman’?” Arya asked for clarification.

“Both.” He got out before rolling away from her, standing and shaking out his wet hair.

The wolves all suddenly burst off in synchronicity through the bush, chasing some small prey or another and Jon, Bran and Rickon ran after them to make sure they didn’t cause too much mayhem.

Arya and Robb were left alone to trudge through the snow and Arya couldn’t help but feel that the scenario had been somewhat contrived once the opportunity had presented itself. Things had been stilted between the two of them since she had returned from her travels. The silence felt like a blade slicing through her skin. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anything to say to Robb; in fact, the problem was that she had _too much_ that she wanted to say to him. She resisted the urge because he was her brother and she didn’t want to drudge up old problems but it seemed that they refused to stay buried whether she wanted them to remain so or not.

“Any luck finding work?” He asked, making an attempt at conversation that he deemed normal but ended up kicking her in the proverbial sore spot that he didn’t know she had.

“No.” She replied simply, looking down at her shoes.

“Oh, well…chin up.” He cheered. “You’ll figure something out.” 

She genuinely didn’t think that he even realised how patronising he sounded sometimes. Normally, she would try to overlook little things like that but when you are on bad terms with someone, everything they do just feels like someone scratching away at your vertebrae. “I always do.” She replied, annoyed at how petulant she sounded, not wanting to resort to her thirteen year old self’s version of communicating.

When she had left for Essos, things had been most strained with her parents and her two, older, redheaded siblings. Her parents had started building bridges straight away with communications, apologies and, most importantly, visits. Sansa and Robb, however, had not been in the position to visit her, either saving coin or struggling to establish themselves in their careers while balancing home life with their wives. Sansa had Skyped with her a lot and she didn’t realise how much that had helped to alleviate the tensions some until she had stepped into that party in Highgarden, even if they still hadn’t talked it all out. But Robb? They just didn’t have that sort of relationship where they would call each other to talk, ‘just because’. She had a different relationship with each of her siblings and loved them all something fierce but other than snowboarding, she and Robb had very little in common.

She had resented Robb and Sansa so much whilst she was growing up. They both just seemed to have it so easy. They were both stupidly attractive, smart, popular, they were good at everything they tried and always succeeded, making it look easy and like the rest of them were losers in comparison. It seemed to her that Robb and Sansa had never _struggled_ for anything before like the rest of them had. Jon had struggled with the stigma of being a bastard all of his life and it had shaped him into the man he was today. Bran was considered a bit of a nerd when they were younger, bookish, scrawny and just a little bit camp, making him unpopular with certain people though he seemed to charm most just the same; then the accident had happened and he was paralysed and everything changed and _that_ shaped him as a person in the same way that being a bastard did for Jon. Her and Rickon were largely cut from the same cloth, quick to anger, not academically minded or motivated and struggled constantly with their ADHD throughout their pre-teens and into their adolescence. She felt like herself, Bran, Rickon and Jon had had struggles in their lives and, even though Robb and Sansa were both hard working and committed people with good work ethic, they’d just never had anything like that. Sansa, maybe, had it a bit when she realised she was bisexual and had had to come out to everyone, dealing with their slow acceptance. The accident had happened shortly after that and Arya thinks that _that_ had a profound effect on Sansa too but it didn’t really shape her at all. Joffrey had had a pprofound effect but Sansa mostly buried her head in the sand after that. Robb had never had anything close; nothing to overcome. It was easy to be especially angry with Robb and Sansa for their behaviour and treatment of Gendry because they were the most confrontational with him and it had felt like a particularly painfully dig in the chest to her that the two of them, that had _everything_ , were striving so hard to take the one thing away from her that made her happy.

“Look, I know that things haven’t been…been right with us for a while and that makes me sad. I know it’s…it’s because of Gendry.” Arya’s deep inhale sound sounded like a hiss and he had the good sense to hesitate in response, even if this survival instinct only lasted for the briefest of moments. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve gotten to know Gendry a bit, because of Cella and all, and he really is a decent bloke.” Robb put in, the earnest look on his face making Arya almost want to vomit in frustration.

Arya struggled with her composure for a moment, wanting more than anything to scream at him, to let the sound echo through the forest and chase the birds from the trees and maybe then, _then_ , her brother might just be able to see the conflict inside of her. _‘He talks about it like it’s the past…but it’s not.’_ “Don’t you see that _that_ makes it worse?” Arya implored, her throat feeling a bit tight as she looked up at her big brother with wide eyes. “That you could try to see past all your prejudices and bias for your wife but you couldn’t do it for your sister when I needed you to?”

He said nothing for a moment, mouth open slightly and his big blue eyes surveying her, whizzing around minutely, reflecting the thoughts in his head.

She stood there for as long as she could bear, waiting for him to say something then suddenly had to walk away before she did something she’d regret later.

“Arya!” He called clearly over the falling snow but she just kept walking to catch up with the others.

*~*~*

“That might not the best past time for a woman in your condition.” Olenna’s voice drawled softly.

Arya smiled, letting the smoke in her lungs exhale in a billowing cloud. “I’m in no _condition_ just yet. I’m soaking it up while I can.” She took another deep inhale, stretching out more comfortably on the lounger in their heated conservatory, scratching Nymeria’s ears distractedly.

“You might as well enjoy the freedom while you can.” Olenna replied, lowering herself ever so slowly into one of the cushioned seats next to her. There was a long silence, Arya just smoking her cigarette quietly and Olenna surveying the vast, snow covered forest in front of her through the wide windows. “You did not have to make such an offer in a misguided response to guilt.”

“What do I have to feel guilty about?” Arya questioned.

“Shae.” Olenna replied simply, not bothering to dance around it. “The situation they found themselves in six months ago was not caused by you; just _revealed_ by our helping hands.”

“I’m aware of that. That’s not what this is.” Arya replied calmly.

“Isn’t it?” Olenna pushed, brows drawn, eyes dissecting.

“No. This has been in the back of my mind for a while. I wanted to wait until they seemed ready again. They were both so raw about it, Sansa especially, so I waited until now to offer.” Arya said softly in response, looking Olenna in the eye.

Olenna was quiet for a moment, her eyes skimming the landscape once again. Arya had long finished her cigarette when she spoke again.

“You have your grandmother’s build; you may just be even smaller.” Olenna started, still looking to the snowy mountains. Arya threw her glance in the older woman’s direction, uncertain of the purpose for the vast change in topics. “And she died birthing babes that her body couldn’t handle.”

“I am not my grandmother.” Arya stated clearly.

Olenna threw her a shrewd look in response. “For as much as Sansa _looks_ like Minnie, I hear you speak sometimes, girl, and it’s like I’ve gone back sixty years. I hear everyone go on about how much you are like that Aunt of yours, the one that ran away with a married man, never to be seen again, but none of them knew Minnie, not even your Mother; none of them can see how much of her you have in you. She was like a lemon tart, that one; looked so sweet, could be very sweet too, but she was sharp as well. You have her _edge_.”

Arya watched the Tyrell matriarch and was surprised to see such open affection there. They all knew that Olenna Tyrell née Redwyne and their Grandmother, Minisa, had been best friends back when she was a Whent and they had both been fostered around the same time down in Dorne. Sansa often regaled them with stories that Olenna would tell them and their Mother would always find some reason to approach her when the families were both together and soak in the memories the woman could recount to her of the Mother she had never known. Underneath the fond gleam in her eyes, Arya thought she could see genuine concern. “Healing has come a long a lot since then, Olenna. Maester’s have a lot more available to them than now than they did just twenty years ago, let alone fifty. We are not doomed to relive our forebear’s struggles.” Arya encouraged lightly.

Olenna finally looked back at Arya, eyes sharp, clearly back in the now, memory lane left behind. “My girl, when you get to be my age and have seen as much as I have, you realise that is _all_ we will ever be able to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a bit of Rickon/Shireen, which a couple of commenters seem quite keen on...Announcement made...Frosty relationship with Arya and Robb.
> 
> What are we thinking? ;D
> 
> Thanks for reading/kudos'/comments!
> 
> *WC68*


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of a spread of characters for this chapter.
> 
> A little warning for this chapter; the ending is a bit tense and you might wonder what is happening but no one will get hurt! By definition, domestic violence, so just warning if anyone has related triggers.
> 
> *WC68*

_‘These chairs are **so** bloody uncomfortable.’_ Margaery internally whinged, fidgeting in her seat at the numbness in her rear.

Sansa had been tapping out a nonsensical rhythm for the last five minutes on the magazine she had long since given up on pretending to read. Margaery was starting to note that other people in the waiting room were glancing over at them, annoyance clearly etched in the lines of their faces.

Margaery slid her hand over to her wife’s lap, clasping her hands to stop their tapping of what was either a very good rendition of _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ or a poor imitation of _On a Misty Morn_.

Sansa threw her eyes over to her and Margaery smiled reassuringly. “Sorry.” Sansa started with a flush rising in her cheeks. “I just wish she had let us stay with her.”

Margaery smiled bigger but it took on a disbelieving quality. “Your sister has always been independent…”

“But this is _our_ babe.” Sansa argued back petulantly before Margaery had even finished the sentence.

“Sansa, we’re talking about your sister getting impregnated. Whether it’s done traditionally or clinically, _anyone_ would want some privacy in that moment; we certainly would, wouldn’t we?” Margaery tried to placate.

“Hmmm.” Sansa huffed out a laugh but didn’t seem won over by her wife’s argument. Margaery let a grin spread across her face and wrapped one arm around Sansa, pulling her close to her side and burying her nose in her neck. When Sansa continued to pout, Margaery began to nuzzle on the pale column of her throat. Sansa finally caved when Margaery began to tickle the back of her neck with the tip of her nose, letting out a giggle and clasping Margaery’s hands desperately to call her off, clearly not trusting herself to open her mouth and voice the request with a room full of listening people.

Sansa pulled away and sent Margaery a mock glare who responded with one of her ‘butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth’ expressions.

Margaery could see Sansa’s façade slowly cracking as a smile began to spread over her own face but then her blue eyes flicked to Margaery’s left and she jumped up immediately.

“Hey!” Sansa exclaimed, taking hurried steps around the seats in the waiting room to reach her sisters side. “How do you feel?” She asked, wrapping a protective arm over the shorter girl’s shoulders while Margaery came to stand on Arya’s other side.

“Full of sperm.” Arya responded with a cavalier shrug. “And eggs. I suppose you’d translate that as ‘good’ under the circumstances?”

“Full of protein is always good.” Margaery bantered back and was rewarded with a sly smile from her good-sister.

Sansa was nervously smoothing down the wild, flyaway hairs from Arya’s braid. “So, you’re okay, yeah?”

“Yes, Mother Hen. I’m fine, I promise.” Arya laughed, looping an arm around Sansa’s waist with a fond look on her face and Margaery was relieved that Arya seemed to be humouring her sister. “I feel kind of sloshy, to be honest.” Arya started pulling Sansa towards the exit. “Does that sound stupid?” Arya questioned, turning back to look at Margaery who was following slightly behind the sisters. “It probably does but I _do_ feel sloshy. Like I’ve drunk too much water or something…and a little bit violated. Not that the Maester was pervy or anything. I’d have a few souvenir teeth to commemorate the day if that were the case. It just feels weird, having a stranger so up-close and personal with your ‘downstairs’ without them even buying you a drink first. Manners, you know?” Arya rattled off without taking a breath.

_‘I remember when I first met Arya and I thought she didn’t say much. Hah! I miss that state of denial.’_

Margaery had always had quite a good relationship with Arya, which was assisted in no small part by them both being quite sarcastic bitches when they wanted to be but she had never been particularly good at reading her. That was always more Sansa’s territory though she knew her wife seemed to struggle a lot more to read her sister since she returned from her time in Essos. Margaery couldn’t really be certain but she felt that her good-sister’s sudden verbal diarrhoea could either be the result of adrenaline or nerves. Margaery caught Sansa’s eye and saw that Sansa looked a little bit concerned too.

“Maester Colemon came highly recommended by Maester Luwin.” Sansa responded to the most approachable ramble.

“Fair enough.” Arya commented, seeming to lose her nervous energy with every step taken and beginning to look a little drained.

 _‘Can’t really blame her.’_ Margaery thought sympathetically.

“Hey,” she said while reaching out a hand and clasping Arya’s shoulder. “You want to come back to ours for the night? We could order in some Dornish or something?”

“Dornish is what you’re meant to eat to bring on labour.” Sansa argued, spitting out just another piece of information about the whole process that made Margaery feel woefully underprepared.

“Well, a bit soon for that.” Arya smirked as they all stepped out into the grey light of the parking lot. “Besides, I have plans tonight.” Arya stated as she fiddled with the keys to her motor bike.

“Oh yeah?” Sansa asked, clearly slightly nervous. _‘Anything Arya does on a regular basis will likely not be considered by my wife as suitable for our foetus.’_ Margaery thought.

“Oh yeah.” Arya started with a coy smirk, throwing her leg over her bike while Margaery tried to hide her own smile at the disapproving look Sansa was giving the machine, as if her sister had just sat upon a roaring dragon. “Lyra and I are going out on the piss in Mole Town, right up by Castle Black barracks where all the lonely, testosterone filled men are. Maybe take part in their ‘Fight Club’ night but who knows? After all, ‘The one rule about Fight Club…’” She trailed off with a wink.

Arya sat on the bike while putting on her gloves and gave Sansa her Cheshire Cat-wide grin. Sansa looked little amused and Margaery was biting her lip at Arya’s antics, as usual.

Arya let out a heavy sigh and said, “How about Braavosi?”

“Perfect.” Margaery jumped in quickly, keen to not let anything bubble over from teasing to anything more.

“Cool. I got some errands to run so I’ll be over in a couple of hours?” Arya asked, fiddling with the straps for her helmet in preparation to put it on.

“Great.” Margaery started getting her keys out. She saw that Sansa had a peculiar look on her face as she considered her younger sister so Margaery decided to bid her farewell to Arya then and there. “Well…thanks again.” Margaery said with little preamble which, as expected, drew a chuckle from Arya.

“A pleasure!” Arya snarked back as Margaery wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Margaery took a step back with a smile and stroked Sansa’s arm as she made her way back to the car, getting in the driver’s seat for a change, figuring that Sansa would still be too antsy to drive.

She sat in the driver’s seat and casually observed the Stark sister’s talking, hugging and laughing for a few minutes before there was a minor disagreement over something or other and they both started to use their ‘conflict hand gestures’. _‘Is it pathetic that I can tell the mood of my wife from her hand gestures, or smart?’_ Margaery thought to herself, genuinely unsure.

It went on for a while and Margaery was just considering whether or not she should get out of the car and intervene when Arya got off the bike, packed away her riding accessories into the compartment on the back and made her way over to the car with Sansa.

She got into the back seat with a minor growl, putting her seatbelt on as Sansa got into the passenger seat. Arya sat there with her arms crossed over her chest, unamused. “We’re giving her a lift home.” Sansa clarified, putting her own seatbelt on. Margaery said nothing, instead, just drove silently from the car park, watching Arya in her rear view mirror stare forlornly after her bike as it was left there.

*~*~*

Rickon was sat wolfing down the burger and chips that served as his second meal of his twelve hour shift, watching the news on the small television that the fry cook kept on over the grill. His shifts weren’t normally this long as he didn’t normally do the morning prep work. Mornings weren’t really Rickon’s thing but one of the regulars was sick and ‘needs must’ so he was slumped over his food with little energy, counting down until the end of his shift. He had just poured what Sansa would call ‘an artery clogging amount’ of ranch dressing over his chips when his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. He retrieved his phone mindlessly, still cramming food into his mouth with his other hand when he saw that it was Shireen calling him, accidentally swallowing a chip whole and spluttering loudly as he made his way outside, ignoring the confused stares of his colleagues.

“H…h…hello?” He asked, still coughing heavily.

 _“Hey, Rick. Are you okay?”_ She asked, concern clear in her voice.

“Yeah yeah.” He answered quickly before breaking out into deep, wracking coughs. “Just…chip went down the wrong way.”

 _“You know, it doesn’t really matter what ‘way’ they go down if you remember to chew.”_ She teased good-naturedly.

“Chewing’s overrated.” He argued back, stomach churning oddly at her laugh. “So, how’s it going?” He asked, something telling him this wasn’t one of their now semi-regular calling-just-to-catchup chats.

 _“Oh…you know.”_ She sighed, sounding downhearted which was even more noticeable considering how upbeat and cheerful she usually sounded.

“No, I don’t. Tell me.” He replied, grabbing the oversized coat from inside the door that was worn by whomever was tasked with chopping wood for the fireplaces that day.

_“I…I just…it’s awkward.”_

“Why is it awkward?” He asked bemused, remembering a time when they shared everything.

 _“Just because…it’s you and…boy-trouble.”_ She put in anxiously.

“Oh…” He trailed off, definitely feeling the ‘awkward’ now.

 _“Yeah, so we should definitely not-”_ She started, her words a rushed garble.

“Well, hey,” He interrupted quickly, trying to shake off his discomfort, “you sound down and I don’t like that so…let’s talk.” He pushed out valiantly.

 _“Are you certain?”_ She asked, still dubious.

“I’m cer-eleven.” He joked more lightheartedly than he felt.

She laughed for a moment before speaking. _“Okay…well, my boyfriend, Devan, and I had an argument and I don’t know what to do.”_ She spoke, sounding small and pitiful.

“Well, what did you argue over?” He prodded, knowing that he couldn’t advise her and give her peace of mind unless he had facts.

_“He doesn’t like…I have male friends on campus and I guess he just doesn’t feel comfortable about it.”_

“Right…” He trailed off, a silent request for more details.

_“I mean, to be fair, one of them is…an ex.”_

_‘Fuck me! She’s got lovers coming out of the woodwork.’_

_“But, nothing would happen between us. I do love Devan and I just…wouldn’t **do** that. I wouldn’t cheat! I think he knows that too but the whole situation seems to rid him of his sense.”_ She argued, vehemence lessening with every sentence, making her sound tired.

“Well…” He coughed awkwardly to clear his throat, “how long have you two been together?”

_“About six months but we’ve been friends for a long time; our Fathers are friends.”_

_‘Oh shit! **That** Devan?’_ He thought to himself but said nothing, remembering a friend of Stannis’ that was a decent bloke and had a slew of sons. “And what does he do?”

_“He’s down at Oldtown studying for his chain. We are **so** far away from each other but there are just as many girls down there as guys up here so if I can trust him, I don’t understand why he can’t trust me.”_

“Blokes can be…” He searched blindly for the word, “idiots. They just like to have their birds close so that they can scare off any guys that think they stand a chance.”

 _“I can ‘scare off’ any and all guys that need it well enough on my own.”_ Shireen argued, muttering darkly and Rickon laughed loudly at her bite, the doublestandards of gender always bothering her and bringing out her _Baratheon Fury_ like nothing else he’d ever seen before.

“I know. I’ve been on the wrongside of your ire plenty.” He chuckled.

“Then you should know better than to laugh!” She growled but the lightness gave away her amusement. They chuckled together for a moment before they composed themselves. _“Whoa, Rick. I do actually feel better. I have to go, I have a lecture but thanks for that. We’ll talk soon.”_ She spoke quietly down the phone, a ring of finality to her words.

“Shir?” He interrupted before she could disconnect.

 _“Yeah?”_ She enquired lightly.

“Why did you call me? Lya would definitely give you better advice than me.” He queried, knowing he sounded as curious as he felt.

 _“I didn’t call you for advice.”_ She answered simply. _“I called you because…hearing your voice always cheers me up.”_

*~*~*

Arya had stayed for a few hours after they’d demolished their Braavosi takeaway, chatting and watching TV. The majority of the meal had already been consumed while Sansa and Arya were still been bickering over what to watch as they ate ( _‘Typical!’_ ) but Margaery wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

Rickon had just picked Arya up on his way home from work and she and Sansa retired to bed immediately, wiped out from the emotional rollercoaster that today had been. She spun onto their bed with a happy sigh as Sansa stood off to the side of the bed, smiling while she tied her long, auburn hair back into a ponytail for bed. “I can’t believe we really did it.” Margaery intoned softly, knowing she still looked slightly bemused by the whole thing.

“I know!” Sansa agreed with a wide smile.

“Not that we should get our hopes up too high or anything.” Margaery rushed in quickly. “We’ll probably have to do this a few times before we get lucky.” Margaery stated seriously, trying to catch Sansa’s eye.

“Eurgh! I know, buzzkill! Let me have my ‘smiley moment’, will you?” Sansa pleaded with a giggle, letting her trousers fall to the floor before pulling her pyjama bottoms out from the blankets. “But just think; in a year we could be elbow deep in changing nappies.” Sansa’s smile didn’t waver though the prospect sounded significantly less glamorous to Margaery.

“That won’t be a ‘we’ thing; that will be singularly _your_ responsibility.” Margaery stated seriously but with a smile, eyes closed as she lay back on the bed.

“Is that so?” Sansa laughed, an edge of challenge to the words.

“Indeed.” Was Margaery’s cool reply, biting down on her lip now to contain her playful smirk. She opened her eyes when no verbal reprimand followed and saw that Sansa was stood in just her knickers and vest now, eying Margaery shrewdly.

“We should play for it.” Sansa stated confidently, a smirk gracing her own lips now.

“Eurgh.” Margaery groaned, rolling onto her front for a second before returning onto her back. “No!” She cried. “No competitions.” Margaery knew after nearly two and a half years of marriage that her wife was as competitive as they came and the least gracious of winners.

“No, not a competition.” Sansa started, sauntering closer to the bed, slowly. “I was thinking, more like a game.” She declared before jumping up on the bed and straddling Margaery’s hips, eyebrows raised in question.

“Hmmmmm.” Margaery debated, letting her hands run over Sansa’s thighs and hips. “What sort of game?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Sansa replied casually, with mock-unaffectedness, running her hands up Margaery’s front, pressing her thumbs firmly to her wife’s nipples, making her squeak slightly. “How about, _Silent Sister_?” She suggested with a demurely raised eyebrow and quirk of her lip.

Margaery groaned in a mix of frustration and pleasure. “But I always lose at _Silent Sister_!” _‘Not that losing is ever really **such** a bad thing.’_ Margaery conceded internally.

Sansa leaned in and let out a petulant little mewl, biting Margaery’s lips and pulling away when the brunette attempted to push herself upwards. “Technically, you always win because I always forfeit at the end.” Sansa smirked.

“I don’t think you’d do that if we kept score.” Margaery argued haughtily. Sansa lip quirked and she looked off to the side somewhat guiltily and Margaery knew exactly what Sansa was thinking. **‘I _do_ keep score.’** _‘Little Sod!’_ “You do! Don’t you?!” Margaery accused suddenly.

“No.” Sansa argued back far too quickly with a slight flush lighting up her cheeks.

“You are lying to your wife…” Margaery stated seriously as though she was reading a charge at a trial before she flipped them over “…and must be punished.” She growled into Sansa’s neck, pushing their hips together firmly.

*~*~*

**From: Brother-Bran  
I just found something that looks like a shrivelled, fluffy sausage under the wardrobe. It’s absolutely disgusting and I am absolutely convinced of your guilt! ~B**

**_From: Psycho Sis  
U dun even kno it was me! Uv lived in tha room for 2 yrs! How shit do u clean that uve only found it now?!_ **

**From: Brother-Bran  
I don’t lift the furniture every time I clean! ~B**

**_From: Psycho Sis  
Like u cud u weedy fuk! _ **

**From: Brother-Bran  
Mother says I’m perfect as I am!!! ¦’^S ~B**

**_From: Psycho Sis  
…its good tha sum1 feels tha way. _ **

**From: Brother-Bran  
How are things anyway, Sweet-Sister? Pregnant yet? ~B**

**_From: Psycho Sis  
Sweet-Sister? Wich sista do u think ur texting? Anyway who knows? I mean there was this 1 guy the otha nyt in Mole Town… Oh wait u ment 4 Sans  & FP? _ **

**From: Brother-Bran  
Ewwwww! Too much information! If the fluffy sausage didn’t make me gag, you’ve just accomplished it. Cheers! ~B**

**_From: Psycho Sis  
I do wat i do! Wen u movviing? Mother tried bribing u 2 stay yet?_ **

**From: Brother-Bran  
No. ~B**

**_From: Psycho Sis  
Threats? Tears? Emotional blackmail?_ **

**From: Brother-Bran  
Nope! She’s been fine. A little sad but trying hard to hide it enough to be supportive. ~B**

**_From: Psycho Sis  
Gud gud._ **

****

**_From: Psycho Sis  
Im guna miss u._ **

**From: Brother-Bran  
I’ll miss you too. =D ~B**

 

*~*~*

Myrcella stood idly in the doorway to the living room, looking at Robb in concern as he flicked through the TV channels carelessly, hardly letting a second pass to register the programme before moving to the next channel impatiently. Grey Wind came to stand next to her, magnanimously looking over at his Master with her before tilting his head and pushing it into her ribs, demanding some affection to alleviate his turmoil. _‘It would be easier if his Master just came out and did the same thing.’_ Myrcella thought tiredly, lifting her hand to scratch the wolf behind his ears.

She walked into the room, determined, heels clacking on the tile floor because, yes, Myrcella Stark wore five inch heels around her house like they were slippers. She came next to Robb, grabbing the remote control from his hand before switching the TV off, ensuring that she had his full attention.

“Robb. Enough is enough. You need to talk to Arya. You spend all the hours the gods send in work and then you come home and stress about your sister. It’s not healthy. Just talk to her…” Myrcella urged forcefully before being interrupted.

“I can’t, Cella.”

“Why not?” She asked frustrated.

“Because we’ve said all there is to say!” Robb snapped though his annoyance clearly was not aimed at Myrcella. “She’s right. She’s only ever brought one bloke home, she was head over heels in love with him and I ruined it for her by being an arse to him. That’s that.” He concluded, taking a deep pull of the ale in his hand and Myrcella was certain that it wasn’t his first of the night.

“Okay,” Myrcella started, turning around to seat herself properly for this apparently long overdue discussion, resigning herself that she would have to do something drastic to get her husband out of this mind set. “You want to talk it out with someone but you feel you can’t with her? Talk to me.”

Robb swivelled his head and rolled his eyes, exasperated. “It’s not the same.”

“Well it’s the best you’ve got for the moment, isn’t it? Besides, when you do speak to Arya…because you will, this will not cripple your relationship in the long run…you should know exactly what you want to say.” Robb continued to look unconvinced, roughly petting Grey Wind’s head. “Fine. I’ll start and I’ll pull no punches because Arya certainly won’t.” She paused for a second, sitting straight, pushing her shoulders back and taking a deep breath before starting. “You were a total arse to Arya and Gendry.” She dove in unapologetically, making Robb’s eyes go wide at hearing his negative thoughts from earlier confirmed. “Your little sister, who had few friends, struggled to speak to people and anger control issues brought home a self-made, orphan boy who worked two jobs just to make sure he could make ends meet without scrounging from the system and you treated him feel like he was lower than a piece of shit on your shoe.” Robb looked like he wanted to cry a little bit, his jaw tightening while his eyes got a bit glassy but Myrcella forced herself to push forward for his sake. “Why?”

“What?” He asked, voice shaky, confused at actually being asked something instead of being accused.

“I said, _“Why?”_ Why would you treat someone that way? Is it because he’s a Waters? A bastard?” She spat harshly making Robb’s head flick towards hers, eyes glowing with anger. “Because I don’t get that. I’ve seen you lay people out before they could even blink after calling Jon a bastard.”

“It’s not because he’s a bastard!” He argued back harshly.

“Then what?!” Myrcella pushed back, unrelenting.

“He can’t…” He started then hesitated, only for half a second but it was enough for Myrcella to dig her heels in and push harder.

“He can’t what, Robb?!” She shouted now. They were both shouting and Grey Wind had left the room to escape it.

“He can’t provide for her!” He yelled, standing up now and walking away.

“Can’t provide for her?!” Myrcella shrieked, disbelievingly getting up to follow him. “Get real, Robb! Even if Arya didn’t have a trust fund and an eye for investments as she does, Arya isn’t the type of girl that wants or needs to be provided for! What other bullshit excuse have you got next?”

“Do not _push_ me, Myrcella!” Robb warned, standing close to her and meeting her stare full force.

“I don’t know, Robb.” Myrcella mocked with a raised eyebrow, stepping forward. “Maybe you need to be _pushed_.” She enunciated the point by shoving him backwards roughly, the palm of her hands digging into the flesh of his chest for a brief second before he was projected harshly away.

Robb crashed loudly in the wall behind him, knocking a photo frame holding one of his snowboarding photos from its place there, the glass smashing as it hit the floor.

Robb’s eyes were livid now and he stepped into Myrcella’s face even closer than he had before, blue eyes burning like a roaring flame, angrier than she’d ever seen him before though she felt no fear. “Tell me, Robb! Why?!” She yelled in his face again and his crumpled for a second before he finally cracked.

“Because I didn’t protect Sansa!” His voice boomed and cracked, sounding raw. “My sister was being beaten and abused by your fucking psychotic twin brother and I didn’t see it! I couldn’t help her! I couldn’t save her!” He was crying now, the anger on his face replaced with anguish as tears fell freely. Myrcella was in shock that he was still carrying guilt with him from the Joffrey saga…she certainly did but that was different. _‘That explains why he’s been so reluctant to talk to **me** about it.’_ She realised. “Sansa wasn’t in a relationship with anyone after that for three years and when she did it was a girl who had an even smaller frame than her and had doted on her constantly even before they were together.” His voice got higher at the end in happy disbelief it seemed. “And maybe it’s ignorant or maybe it’s sexist or maybe I just fucking liked Margaery that much but I thought, _‘Thank the gods, it’s not going to happen again!’_ ” Robb enthused, for once not caring about being politically correct by assuming that a domestic abuser would be less common in a lesbian relationship, instead, just saying without filtering his thoughts. “I hadn’t even exhaled that breath of relief before Arya walked into the Manor with that fucking mammoth of a bloke!” Robb pressed, eyes wide with disbelief, clearly reliving the moment as if it were happening anew, holding his hands wide apart to represent Gendry’s girth; if the tension in the air hadn’t been choking her, she would have laughed. “A foot taller than her, twice as wide, his bicep bigger than her thigh for Crone’s sake. And I just thought,” He started softly, wiping his own eyes and breath catching, making his whole body jump, “if this bloke tries to hurt her, he could really kill her. Dead!” His eyes implored desperately. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t…” He started muttering to himself on repeat, head in hands before slumping down the wall.

Myrcella was crying now too, looking at the love of her life, crumpled on the floor, balling like a babe, feeling guilt crawl up her spine but knowing in her heart of hearts that Robb needed to be pushed this much to reveal his real feelings, probably because he felt he couldn’t discuss them with Sansa or Myrcella of all people. She climbed onto Robb’s lap, his hands clutching at her desperately as soon as he felt her touch, pulling his head to rest on her breast as he sobbed.

“Gendry…is my brother.” She choked into his ear. “And Joffrey is my twin.” She said, resigned, as she had been for years about this fact. She pulled Robb’s head up so he looked at her for her next words. “My brother, is _nothing_ like my twin.” She carded her fingers desperately through Robb’s hair. “I’ve always known what Joffrey is. I…I tried to warn Sansa.” Myrcella was sobbing now, purging her own guilt over what had happened years before. “But…she wouldn’t listen. Her head was filled with such frilly, fluttering ideas back then. She wouldn’t see it…couldn’t, until it was too late. That evil, that’s in Joffrey, it’s from my Mother. It’s because he’s a Lannister, not a Baratheon. Gendry is free from that burden. He’s a good man.” Robb nodded in defeated acceptance. “I had to do this, you understand? For you?” She asked, wiping his tears away.

“Why?” Robb asked pleadingly, tears of remorse still running down his beautiful face to replace the banished ones.

“Do you know how a muscle gets stronger, Robb?” She asked frantically, holding his face in her hands and pulling him closer to her. “You break it. You work it until it can’t keep up anymore and there’s nothing left for it to do other than tear. But then it heals over, stronger than it was before, able to take more strain and weight next time until the process repeats itself. That’s how you gain strength, Robb.” She whispered desperately into his auburn curls as he cried into her shoulder before lifting his head and kissing her roughly, hands grabbing at her frantically.

Myrcella had barely released Robb from his smallclothes and Robb had barely reached under her skirt to shove her own aside before he was inside her, the both of them taking each other with abandon, the released tension and energy from years of guilt released in a tsunami of emotion that they had no other outlet for. It only lasted a moment. Robb spilled into her hotly and though the shards of glass on the floor were cutting into her shins and had distracted her from reaching the same release, she moaned just the same at feeling his, sharing his relief.

It took them longer to catch their breaths than the whole thing took to happen. Finally able to speak again, Robb murmured into the skin above Myrcella’s heart, “Thank you.”

“I love you so much, Robb.” She replied, meaning it with every organism that made up her body.

“I love you too, Cella.” He declared, nuzzling into her neck. “I’m just sorry the revelation is all for naught.” He expressed softly.

“Nothing is for naught.” She argued with a whisper.

“But, it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.” She protested further, taking a long pause. “Gendry’s coming back to Winterfell.” She revealed shakily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh!
> 
> I hath provided a carrot for the people angry at the lack of Gendrya!
> 
> Hope the Robb/Myrcella scene didn't...agitate anyone?
> 
>  _Silent Sister_ is officially what I have dubbed the 'game' they played in **Be Someone Else**.
> 
> It actually made me feel ill to write Arya's terrible text speak but she would most certainly not faff around with spelling and grammar, even if it were her strength.
> 
> Anyway, hope no one's too offended by this chapter! Until next week!
> 
> *WC68*


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday!
> 
> *WC68*

Meera watched Bran fondly as he tried, with little success, to pick which of his precious book collection would be moving down with them to Grey Water Watch immediately and which would be left at his parent’s house for the time being. He would pick up a book study the back for a moment, a pained expression on his face before putting it on one of the piles, moving onto another two or three books before going back to the one he’d previously sorted and repeating the arduous process, tugging harshly at the short, thick locks of auburn hair as he went along.

She had always been fond of Brandon Stark but even more so after her brother had befriended him, relieved that Jojen had finally find someone he deemed worthy of his time, someone whom he could interact with. Bran was special. He was sweet and thoughtful, well-loved by most he came across though Meera knew that he had often suffered at the hands of bullies whilst growing up. His intelligence, large, thick glasses and comfort in his own skin paired with a slightly effeminate nature made for an obvious target. She knew that at least half of the fights that Arya had gotten into as a child was defending her younger brother from cowards and idiots. She did not remember when she had first become aware of the apparent crush that Bran had on her; it seemed to have always been there in some degree.

She had come to Winterfell permanently to start her degree at the University of Winterfell when things had changed. One night, early in her first year, she had gotten herself totally wasted and, too far from campus, had texted Bran a barely intelligible plea for a ride home. Bran had only been Six-and-Ten at the time but had shown up in the middle of the night in time to fight off some big guy that was holding a glass of straight vodka to her lips, claiming it to be water. Bran had always been quite a camp guy so Meera had never thought of him in a macho way but the way he had gone toe-to-toe with a guy half a head taller and twice as wide as him before laying him out flat had been more of a turn on that she had been willing to admit at the time or even now. He had gotten her into his car, driven her back to campus and gotten her into her bedroom before she pressed herself up to him and kissed him firmly, running her fingers through his gelled hair as she pulled his head firmly to her own. She had been surprised at how good of a kisser he was but even more surprised when he had softly pulled away, saying that he had been waiting too long for her not to remember it in the morning. He then calmly sat her down on her bed, took her shoes off and poured a glass of water to put on her bedside table. She had nearly fallen out of bed trying to grab his leg as he made to leave, asking him for a kiss before he went. He had smirked at that, predatorily leaning over her, making Meera’s breath catch in excitement. He had looked in her eyes for a long moment before sweeping her sweaty fringe from her head and placing a kiss to her forehead before scooping her legs up slightly to get her blanket out from under her to tuck her in, leaving with a smile still in place.

She had felt somewhat conflicted about the whole thing in the morning, feeling like a bit of a pervert though legally she had done nothing wrong. Bran had shown up in the morning without warning but with coffees and muffins; that is how their tenuous courtship had begun. In those early days especially, people had doubted them and how long they would last but they had proved them wrong. Through all the snide comments calling her a ‘cougar’, the whispers claiming Bran was ‘in the closet’, the lost use of his legs, the rehabilitation, the long-distance and everything else, they had persevered when others had fallen by the wayside and she would fight anyone and anything for Brandon Stark.

When she saw him pick up a collection of Valyrian poetry for the fifth time she concluded her vigil and walked over to him, straddling the side of his hip and burying her face in his neck, breathing him in with a smile.

“Hey there.” He finally threw the book down, squeezing her thigh tightly before spinning her around to his front so that she was sat in his lap.

“Hello, my Prince.” She responded.

He squeezed her tightly around the waist, burying his own head in her brown curls. “I can’t wait to live with you. It’ll feel like, being with you _properly_ in a way, if that makes sense? Like, we’ve won, finally.”

“We’ve already won.” She replied happily, eyes closed.

*~*~*

_"Hello."_

"Hi. It's Sansa."

_"I know; your name and picture pops up when you call."_

"Well excuse me for hoping you'd sound a bit more enthusiastic to hear from your only sister."

 _"Hmmmm. You might be onto something there. Let's try that again."_ Arya declared before the line went dead.

Sansa groaned in frustration, pressing the phone to her forehead before taking a calming breath and redialling her sister’s number.

 _"Oh my gods, Sansa! It's you! Yay! Rainbows and glitter and sunshine!"_ Arya's peppy, sarcastic voice trilled loudly down the phone.

"Gods, you are _such_ a bitch." Sansa groaned in annoyance but still smiled, knowing that her sister couldn't see her.

 _"All the best She-Wolves are."_ She replied simply. _"How may I be of assistance?"_

"I was wondering whether you wanted to come over for food tonight?" Sansa asked.

 _"Really?"_ Arya asked, slightly surprised and dubious.

"Yeah, well, it's been sixteen days since the transfer so I was thinking that you could come and do a test."

 _"Oh, a Pee-Party."_ Arya summarised drily, sounding significantly less enthused than she had before.

"Well, I'll feed you too. And it's just going to be the three of us so 'party' makes it sound like more of an affair than it will be; more like a Pee-Gathering."

 _"Hmmmmm."_ Arya answered with no pep.

"I'll make your favourite for food! Whatever you want." Sansa cajoled softly.

Arya paused for a moment considering. _"Even your massive, fat-arse pancakes and pecan pie?"_

"Well, I mean, pancakes are more for breaking fast-"

_"I was under the impression that the phrase 'whatever you want' meant-"_

"Alright, alright, chill your tits." Sansa drawled, making Arya laugh as she always did when prim and proper Sansa used some of Arya's more colourful terminology. "Seven?"

_"Yep, sounds good."_

"Whose car are you borrowing?" Sansa asked pointedly, making Arya groan.

_"You'll be happy to hear, in support of your bike-hatingness, Mother had me put onto Bran's car insurance last week."_

Sansa smiled smugly, hoping it didn't come across in her voice. "He doesn't mind?"

 _"No, he rides his bike everywhere anyway and I've said he can use my motorbike as a trade and the car if and when he needs it but he doesn't think he will. He’s not here for much longer anyway."_ Arya replied conversationally.

"True.” Sansa conceded, sad for a moment at the thought of her brother leaving but was unable to stay morose for too long. “Great. Well, see you at seven then." Sansa enthused.

_"Indeed you will."_

*~*~*

Margaery was sat at the kitchen island reading an interior design magazine while Sansa worked on the batter for an exorbitant amount of pancakes. "Don't forget the M&M's on the top shelf. I love your M&M pancakes!" She groaned at the thought alone.

"We finished those the other night." Sansa stated simply, measuring out the milk carefully.

"Wh...why didn't you say that earlier? I would have gone out and gotten some?" Margaery whined petulantly.

"I was a little busy baking a pie." Sansa retorted, sounding a bit miffed herself.

Margaery said nothing, just threw her arms out onto the bar and rested her chin on her elbows with a huff.

Sansa ignored her and instead continued mixing the batter until they heard Lady begin to bark loudly in the next room, followed closely by the doorbell.

"I'll get it." Margaery mumbled, barely intelligible from where her face was pressed against her arms. She got up and began to make her way into the living room when Sansa dropped a few of the utensils onto the floor, cursing before picking them up. Margaery walked back over to her wife who was now on the floor, mumbling as she attempted to pick up all of the batter covered utensils that continuously escaped her grasp.

Margaery kneeled down to help her pick everything up when Sansa managed to mutter out a shaky, "It's okay, I've got it. You can go get the door."

Margaery ignored her, picking up a handful of utensils and dumping them into the sink before turning the tap on to run over them, then going back to her wife. She ran her fingers through her hair and tilted her face up to her own. "Just breathe, Sweet Girl, okay? One step at a time." Margaery soothed softly.

Sansa took a deep breath while looking into Margaery's eyes and nodded unevenly.

"Okay?" Margaery asked again, stroking Sansa's ear.

"Okay." Sansa replied with a queasy smile.

There was suddenly a string of thuds to the back door that led to the kitchen. "Hello! Woman potentially carrying your child freezing her mammaries off out here!"

The tension broke and they both laughed, Margaery pecking Sansa's lips quickly before making her way to the back door.

The door was only half open when Nymeria pushed through forcefully and began to call out for her sister. Arya followed close behind, kicking her shoes off immediately. "Hey."

"Hey." Sansa and Margaery both replied in unison, Margaery stepping up to hug her first while Sansa washed her hands.

"So, I didn't really know what was appropriate to bring to a 'Pee-Gathering'..." Arya started unsure.

"Lots and lots of water." Margaery replied with a giggle.

"...so I brought a bottle of Arbour Gold and a couple of bags of M&M's; do you think we could have a couple of M&M pancakes too, Sans?" Arya asked.

Margaery stepped up and wrapped Arya in another hug, tighter and more desperate than the first. "I don't know if I'm more grateful for this or the surrogacy." Margaery stated with fake emotion choking her up.

"And I don't know which has brought me the most satisfaction." Arya replied, matching her dramatic tone while stroking a hand through Margaery's curls.

Sansa rolled her eyes at their shenanigans, putting the pan on the stove to begin. "You didn't have to bring wine, Ar. Wouldn't really be fair since you can't drink it."

"Just because I'm going to be sober and miserable, doesn't mean I expect you to be."

"You won't be miserable, you'll be with us and therefore ecstatic." Margaery quipped.

They sat down to eat on the island, allowing Sansa to keep a steady production of pancakes going without missing out on the conversation and also allowing Arya and Margaery to take over occasionally so that Sansa could consume some of her own fare.

An hour or so later, all the pancake mix had been utilised and they were trapped in a tense, quiet moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were Lady and Nymeria happily gnawing on their bones.

"Pie?" Arya asked awkwardly, casting a look around at the other two.

"Sorry." Sansa exclaimed, looking like she could burst out of her skin at any moment. "I'm sorry but I can't wait any longer."

"Ummm...okay then." Arya replied uncertainly.

"Great!" Sansa squealed enthusiastically before running from the room. "I'm going to go get the tests." She yelled excitedly over her shoulder as she ran from the room.

Complete silence followed; even Lady and Nymeria stopped demolishing their treats.

"Hey," Arya started quietly, unnecessarily tapping Margaery's arm to get her attention as her eyes followed her sister from the room, "not that I don't care about you too but how's she doing? Do you think she's prepared for the fact that this might not go how she wants it to tonight?" Arya asked quietly, her eyes full of concern.

Margaery sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, making Arya bite her lip not to smile at the fact that Margaery now subconsciously imitated Sansa's stress sign. "She's trying really hard not to get her hopes up, especially in light of the whole Shae thing," Margaery paused on a growl, "but this _is_ the furthest we've gotten. I'm struggling to keep her level headed but at the same time I don't want to spoil the excitement for her." Margaery stated earnestly.

They both took in a preparatory breath as they heard Sansa bounding down the stairs before they stood. Sansa burst into the room with a carrier bag clearly full to the brim with pregnancy tests.

"Mother Rhoyne!" Arya swore softly, eyes bugging out of her head. "I'm going to need some sort of IV drip if you expect to keep me hydrated enough to pee on all of those!"

"Well, I didn't know what brand was the best and the odds are we'll need them again after tonight so..." Sansa stated evenly, picking a box out at random and flipping it over to read the back.

Arya and Margaery seemed to relax imperceptibly at that, Margaery stepping forward to lock an arm around Sansa's waist.

"So how do you want to do this?" Arya asked as she stepped forward. "Do I pee on one at a time or take a few in there with me?"

Sansa handed her the box she had been reading and smiled at her encouragingly. "One at a time is fine. Are you good to go or do you want another glass of milk?"

"I'm good to go." Arya answered, making her way towards the downstairs toilet. "Wish me luck!" She threw over her shoulder.

Arya was only a couple of steps away from the door when she stopped suddenly, sensing the presence behind her. Sansa careened into Arya's back, nearly losing her balance. "What? What is it?" Sansa asked, clearly bemused.

"Sansa, no." Arya stated slowly and clearly.

Sansa turned to Margaery, clearly about to argue when her wife jumped in. "Sweet Girl, your sister has been making trips to the bathroom unassisted for at least a couple of years now so I don't think either of us are required at this _exact_ moment."

Sansa opened her mouth again to speak when Arya took over. "You'll be there for the _Big Reveal_ and that's the important part." She stated plainly.

Sansa considered it for a moment before stepping back with a small pout on her face.

Arya closed the door slowly, maintaining eye contact with Sansa until the last possible second, trying desperately not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

When the door was closed, she made her way over to the privy, flipping over the box to have a read of it herself as she lowered her trousers and took a seat.

"Are you going yet?" Sansa called from the hallway.

Arya groaned in disbelieving frustration. "Sansa! Get away from the door!"

She could hear a quiet scuffle as she presumed Margaery gently 'persuaded' Sansa to move away.

Arya huffed, took a breath and did the deed, trying her best not to dwell too much on the ramifications of the next few moments, not thinking it fair to subject poor Margaery to two Stark freak-outs.

When she was done, she unlocked the door before washing her hands and Sansa walked right in with an expectant look on her face, eying the stick on the counter with avid, fixated interest. "Alright?" She asked, not sparing Arya a glance.

"Yes." Arya answered, drying her hands on a towel. "Do you want to go in the living room for this?" Arya asked, looking to Sansa and then to Margaery who was at least in the frame of mind to still spare Arya a glance.

"Ummmm-" Margaery started before Sansa finished for her.

"No, this is fine."

Arya crossed her ankles and folded her arms, leaning against the wall while Sansa stood stock still, muscles as tense as the string of a bow, poised and ready but for what, Arya didn't know.

After around thirty seconds, Arya was about ready to pull her hair out. She could appreciate a comfortable silence more than most people but this, most certainly, was not a comfortable silence, the tension as thick as The Wall.

Margaery was stroking an agitated hand over Sansa back where she was hunched over the counter, gaze having not moved from the stick since she entered the room.

"A watched pot never boils, Sansa." Arya remarked with disinterest.

"And? What are you saying? A watched stick probably won't...reveal either?" She replied without sparing her sister a glance.

"No, I'm saying go make a cup of tea or something."

"Make a cup of tea?" Sansa turned to face her, her expression incredulous.

"Yeah. Take the edge off." Arya prodded further.

"Take the edge off?" Sansa shrieked.

"Maybe we should-" Margaery tried to intercede but was steamrolled over by her irate wife.

"This is potentially one of the most important moments of my life and you think that making you a sodding cup of tea will take the fucking edge off of it for me?" Sansa ranted, her cheeks now turning an impressive scarlet.

"Well, it would certainly make _me_ feel better." Arya replied, sounding completely unaffected by her sister’s irritation. "Throat's feeling awful dry." Arya smirked at Sansa while lifting her hand to her neck dramatically.

Sansa breathed in deeply through her nose and stepped forward, clearly working herself up to fully let Arya have it when the watch on her wrist started to beep.

"Oh, would you look at that. Time’s up." Arya smirked at her sister softly.

Arya could see the exact second that Sansa realised that Arya had played her.

"Gods, you _are_ a bitch." Sansa laughed softly.

"It serves a purpose sometimes." Arya laughed.

"Like pulling me from my own head?" Sansa guessed.

"Amongst other things." Arya agreed.

"Okay. Okay." Sansa said softly to herself. She strode confidently over to the sink area, leaning down to read the stick before jumping up like a snake had bitten her, shaking her head emphatically. "No, I can't, I can't! Marge, you do it."

"Me?" Margaery balked, voice ringing with surprise at suddenly being pushed to the forefront.

"Yeah. Please look. I just can't." Sansa replied, walking back over to wrap her arms around Arya’s shoulders though Arya wasn’t sure if the purpose was to give or receive comfort.

Arya brought her arm up to stroke Sansa's back encouragingly, sending a questioning look at Margaery to which she responded with a nod.

Margaery walked over to the counter slowly. When she was stood in front of the counter, she drummed her fingers on the sink for a moment before throwing her head back and blowing out a long breath before reaching for the stick.

Sansa's fingers clutched Arya's shoulder tightly, waiting, nails digging into the flesh painfully. Margaery suddenly brought her hand up to her mouth and a laugh escaped her as her shoulders lurched forwards. "Oh my gods!" She yelled, turning around and holding up the stick for Sansa's inspection.

Sansa screamed directly into Arya's ear and Arya idly noted that it was possibly the only thing that could have made her register anything from her stupefied state. "What?" She asked shocked as Sansa began to vibrate excitedly against her, holding one arm out to Margaery as the other squeezed around Arya’s neck tighter.

Margaery didn't need to be told and ran straight into Sansa's open arm, her own arms coming up to wrap around both of them as Sansa still had Arya pressed firmly to her side.

Arya just stayed motionless for a moment, not even the feel of Margaery accidentally rubbing the stick into the back of her head able to shake her into action. Arya was happy for them…she just thought that there would need to be a few whacks at it before it paid off. _'Abstract to realism too fast. Whiplashed.'_ She thought distractedly as Sansa finally let go of her to wrap her arms around Margaery who was now kissing her thoroughly. She walked over to the privy, slowly and with poise that would make her mother proud, lifted the lid and then proceeded to vomit.

She could hear Sansa and Margaery immediately stop celebrating and she felt even shittier for spoiling their moment. Sansa stepped up behind her and gently scooped her hair behind her and rubbed between her shoulder blades consolingly.

"I'm good, I'm good. Go back to celebrating." Arya declared queasily.

"Don't be a tit." Sansa replied sombrely.

"Are you okay?" Margaery put in, sounding panicked.

"Yeah..." Arya ended on a wretch and more vomit. "I will be." She corrected. "I just need to fucking breathe."

There were a couple of tense, silent moments where Arya could sense Sansa and Margaery communicating discreetly behind her back before she could straighten her spine and flush the privy. She walked stiffly over to the sink and washed her face and swilled out her mouth before she felt human enough to face her sister and her good-sister again.

"Okay?" Sansa asked concerned.

"Yep." Arya retorted simply.

"Tea?" Sansa offered.

Arya had to laugh. "Yeah. Please."

They all left the bathroom and Arya began to follow them to the kitchen when Sansa stopped and turned to her. "No, we got it. Go lie down in the living room or something."

 _'...so we can talk about what just happened without you hearing.'_ Arya finished silently in her head but said nothing, not feeling like she really had the right to deprive them of the opportunity as her sudden nausea was so stupid and unexpected.

She walked into the living room, intending to take a seat on Sansa and Margaery's awesome, sink-into-it-like-quicksand sofa but when she got there she had a headache brewing so sprawled out on it instead, lying on her back, eyes closed and rubbing circles in her temples. After a moment she felt the cold nose of her companion against her hand so blindly lifted her hand to run through the fur at her neck.

The headache was slowly starting to abate when she heard Sansa and Margaery make their way into the room and stop talking mid-sentence.

"Were they doing that before?" Margaery whispered though her voice carried easily.

Arya opened her eyes to ask what the fuck she was talking about when she saw for herself what Margaery was referring to. Her hand was still idly stroking Nymeria's neck but the great beast’s head, as well as Lady's, was pointing to Arya's midriff, avid fascination clear in their furry faces.

"I didn't really notice." Sansa stated with a curious smile as she stepped towards the sofa, passing Arya a mug of steaming liquid.

"I love all your Stark Wolf Dogs but they are freakishly intelligent to point that it’s kind of spooky." Margaery proclaimed while shaking her head, curls tumbling madly.

Arya sat up and had one of them sit either side of her, with the dogs resting their heads on her thighs. She looked to Sansa and then Margaery before letting out a deep sigh.

"Seven save me! The two of you look like you slept with hangers in your mouths." Arya quipped, referring to their identical beaming smiles.

"I can't help it!" Margaery stated with a giggle.

"I'm not trying to 'help it'." Sansa retorted, running her hands through Arya's hair and even Arya had to smile at that.

The rest of the night went by without further ceremony; Sansa only made her take three more tests throughout the evening, each time Arya emerged from the bathroom with a thumbs up and a "Still pregnant." Sansa wouldn't take her hands away from Arya's stomach for the last hour of her visit but Arya thought she may as well get used to that pretty bloody sharpish.

"I'm just saying, it's been sixteen days; my food-babe is bigger than your babe-babe." Arya argued as she walked out the front door, Nymeria at her heels.

"I don't care." Sansa answered, taking one more grope of her belly for the road.

"Well, I didn't tell anyone the nature of my visit so you can take your time with telling everyone if that's what you want." Arya stated, rubbing Nymeria's and Lady's ears idly.

Sansa took a breath to answer but Margaery beat her to it. "I think it's better to get a test done at the Maester's office and wait awhile to be certain." She gave Sansa a pointed look and Sansa rolled her eyes but nodded, still smiling like an idiot.

"Alrighty Roo." Arya replied stepping up for the farewell and damn near got the life choked out of her by the vice like grip of her sister's arms around her neck. She threw a desperate look at Margaery for help but the traitor just threw her arms around the both of them, squeezing tightly with a happy hum.

After a moment Arya choked out, "You know, I'm not an expert or anything but I think your foetus will need oxygen."

They laughed and released her reluctantly.

"Later." Arya stated without further preamble and made her way quickly towards Bran's car, Nymeria running ahead and kicking up snow, barking her goodbye to Lady.

"Call us if you need anything!" Sansa called after her to which Arya replied by waving her arm in the air in acknowledgement.

When Arya drove off, she threw one last look to the house; she saw that Sansa had Margaery pressed against the front-door, arms around her neck, pressing quick fire kisses to her hair and temple, beaming smiles on both of their faces and Arya couldn't help but smile to herself too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn! I've not written anything new in this fic since I started posting! I might have to push this to fortnightly postings.
> 
> Sorry!
> 
> What did everyone think? Did you like Meera/Bran origin story? Like the pee-gathering?
> 
> *WC68*


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All!
> 
> Another missed deadline! I'm so sorry! Hectic weekend! And not even for fun; work! Blargh!
> 
> I'm working on my penalty! Enjoy!
> 
> *WC68*

Week Three saw a confirmed positive test at Maester Colemon’s office and Sansa was over the moon. Margaery still insisted that they wait until things were further along before they tell their families though she had said nothing about shopping, a loophole that the redhead was utilising to the extreme.

Sansa already had around eight new born outfits under her arm when she spotted _the_ most adorable grey onesie with white, furry hands and feet when someone called out to her.

“Sansa?” A voice questioned softly. Sansa swung around but it took her a moment to put a name to the face staring excitedly back at her.

“Alys?” Sansa smiled, trying to sound more confident than she was but it paid off when the girl’s smile got wider. “Alys Karstark, how have you been?” Sansa asked politely.

In truth, Alys had not changed much since they had attended Winterfell Prep School together; she was still tall, had the same long face and pointy chin though she now wore her brown hair shorter. The only thing Sansa really remembered about her was that she was in the year above herself in school and used to be friendly with Jon. _‘I think she used to go out with one of Ygritte’s mental friends, actually.’_ Sansa thought back while waiting for Alys’ response.

“Well. I married Daryn, Daryn Hornwood, earlier this year.” She revealed happily, eagerly showing Sansa the ring of gold with a dark orange hessonite centre.

“Whoa. Congratulations. It seems like you’ve been betrothed for ages.” She replied with a smile, remembering her Mother discussing their engagement back when she was still in King’s Landing for university.

Alys let out a frustrated groan to indicate her agreement. “I know. My Dad wouldn’t let it go ahead until all of the boys could attend. Between Harrion, Torrhen and Eddard constantly having arguments with each other and my Dad, it was impossible! In the end, Daryn and I decided enough was enough and we eloped to Oldtown.”

“How did that go down with Rickard?” Sansa asked empathetically, not remembering Rickard Karstark as a particularly forgiving man.

“Not well.” Alys answered, her smile losing a bit of it’s dazzle now. “But he can’t stay sore about it forever. At least, I hope.” She finished with a gallant attempt at a smile. “What about you then?” She pushed on quickly, surveying the clothing in Sansa’s arms for the first time. “Expecting?” She asked with genuine enthusiasm.

Sansa hesitated for a moment. _‘Telling Alys isn’t telling anyone, **really**._ ’ Sansa reasoned to herself. _‘She’s lived down in Hornwood for a few years now as far as I can remember. She’s probably only here visiting.’_ “Uh, yeah…yes we are expecting actually.” Sansa smiled widely and felt the genuineness of it stretch her cheeks far more than any of her polite ones had thus far.

“Oh, wow. Congratulations! I’m sorry, what was your wife’s name again?” She asked insouciantly.

“Margaery. Margaery Tyrell.” Sansa clarified, beaming still, flushed with pleasure.

“Yes, that’s right.” Alys replied, as though she now remembered. “I thought it was someone from one of the families down south though I couldn’t remember if it was The Reach or Dorne. Well, congratulations to you and Margaery. I’ve got to run but good luck with the babe and give my best to Jon, would you?” She enthused, leaning in to give Sansa the customary kiss on the cheek before she left with a smile and a wave.

Sansa waved after her and continued to smile, feeling like some of her agitated, excited energy had been siphoned off by being able to tell someone the news. Sansa closed her eyes for a moment and just sighed in relief before she opened her eyes again and looked down at the many little outfits in her arms.

 _‘Now, where am I going to hide these when I get home?’_ She pondered seriously.

*~*~*

With the best of intentions, they only got to Week Six of the pregnancy before the cat was out of the bag and the family guessed that the transfer had happened and that Arya was pregnant. Unfortunately, Arya had a petite frame and the difference in her stomach was noticeable to most, despite the fact that she tried to hide it under loose fitting clothing… that and the fact that no one had seen a drop of alcohol pass Arya’s lips in six weeks. _‘Most suspicious.’_ Margaery had to agree.

After the celebrations and congratulations in Stark Manor, Margaery had gone to make the phone call announcing the pregnancy to her own family in The Reach. Margaery felt bad that this would likely be the first of many updates that the Tyrell’s would receive second to the Starks. As much as she loved the Starks, it did make her a bit sad that her side of the family couldn’t be more involved due to geography but her guilt factor was minimised due to the fact that they had experienced all of this already with Garlan while it was all a first for her Northern family. _‘And me.’_ She tacked on internally. _‘I was in Uni whilst Garlan and Leonette were going through all of this with Garrett.’_

Everyone was still all smiles and cheers when she returned from making her phone call.

“Ah, man! I’m so gutted.” Rickon stated, looking slightly put out despite his smile. “I had an awesome joke lined up for when you told us you’d done the…insertion…thing.” Rickon bemoaned, looking genuinely aggrieved.

“That _is_ a shame.” Arya enthused, looking at her little brother with an unimpressed look to serve as juxtaposition to her words. Margaery guessed that Arya’s grouchiness was only multiplied by the fact that a bottle of champagne had been opened whilst Margaery was away and every now nursed a full flute of the bubbly beverage…everyone except Arya, that is.

“Number one: you’re thinking of ‘insemination’, Rick.” Sansa corrected, nose crinkling in distaste at his error as she passed Margaery a flute of her own which Margaery guiltily accepted. “And number two: it’s embryo transfer.”

“Okay, well, I’ll just have to deliver it like we don’t know you’re preggers yet and you’ve just done the…whatever. Ready?” Rickon asked, a smarmy grin on his face. Arya just met his stare evenly, poker face firmly in place. “So, right now you have the sperm of six different guys inside of you? It must feel like a slow Friday night?”

Before Arya could articulate a response, a loud crack echoed loudly throughout the room from the firm slap Sansa had gifted Rickon across the back of the head. “What?!” He shouted indignantly, eyes wide, face showing genuine shock; Margaery was surprised he even managed to get even that much out based on the flabbergasted expression he wore.

“She’s carrying my child. For every comment like that, you get a bitch slap.” Sansa replied innocently but seriously, holding her flute up to Arya in salute.

“Mother!” Rickon called out, looking to his Mother with great indignation. 

Catelyn, whom was sat on the other side of the room next to Ned, just smiled not making eye contact with any of them while Arya simply beamed, looking Rickon dead in the eye and drawled, “Outstanding!”

Rickon huffed as the other’s all laughed. “I’d have thought you’d be nicer about the whole thing Rick, considering some of that sperm is yours.” Margaery put in drily though the reaction was instantaneous, Arya, Rickon and Robb almost gagging, disgust written into every line of their faces. “What?” Margaery asked innocently, looking around the room with a baffled expression, noting Myrcella biting her lip and Dany outright guffawing at the display. “It’s yours too, Robb.”

More retching noises followed that statement as the boys began to flee. “What is wrong with you?” Robb asked, indignant outrage visible through the green tinge his face held.

 _‘I wish Bran had been here for this too.’_ Margaery lamented with a sigh.

Arya looked at her long and hard, the anger on her face held equal only to the nausea. “Why would you do that?” She asked calmly but with the weight one might expect to be heard of someone asking the same question of a serial killer whilst stood over a recently bloodied and mangled corpse.

“It’s a fact, isn’t it?” Margaery asked innocently.

Arya nodded, as if agreeing, though Margaery knew that it wasn’t that easy. “It _is_ a fact.” Arya repeat dully. “But I would ask you to imagine the same thing from your own point of view.” Arya said seriously and Margaery tried not to let the cringe show on her face at the thought of her brothers’ sperm inside of her.

“Meh.” Margaery shrugged impassively.

“Meh?” Arya pushed, standing up and coming around the table. Margaery noted that Arya looked near sociopathic in that moment, stepping up to Margaery with a faux-gentle smile and starting to stroke a hand up and down Margaery’s forearm. “So, the idea of the semen of your three brothers, sticky and warm _inside_ of you…”

“…oh gods.” Margaery broke off feeling like she wanted to vomit, started to run away from her good-sister, feeling dirty. “You win, okay? We’re even.”

“We’re not even until you taste bile in the back of your throat!” Arya argued as she chased after her, leaving the disgusted groans and reluctant chuckles behind them as well as the loud thump which was presumably Dany falling off of the arm of the sofa with laughter.

*~*~*

Grey Wind had been butting his head insistently into Robb’s thigh for a good ten minutes before Robb gave up and put a coat on to go for a quick walk through the gardens. The other’s came in a mass of grey, black and white fur when they heard Robb open the screen door, barging passed him eagerly for a chance at some fresh air and the space to stretch their legs after dinner.

Robb let out a big huff of air as he closed the door behind him and took a step out onto the glass-ceilinged porch that ran the length of the Manor’s rear when he noticed a small movement in his periphery vision. He turned his head and saw his youngest sister, sat on one of their Mother’s wicker chairs, Nymeria’s head resting in her lap. Arya’s intense grey eyes were focused on him intently, a small crease to her brow as she considered him soundlessly and Robb was almost nervous. It had always been wise to be nervous around Arya and the icy look she sometimes got in her eyes whilst growing up but, more often than not, it had been directed at Sansa instead of him; while Sansa had never been cowed by it due to frequent exposure, he had never built up a proper immunity.

“Hey.” He welcomed nervously, grin overly wide with friendly cheer.

“Hey.” She droned back with little enthusiasm.

“What you drinking?” Robb asked, spying the glass in her hand and reaching for the first ‘safe’ topic he could think of.

“Frothed milk.” She replied dully. “Maybe they messed up the fermenting process at the factory and I’ll get a buzz off of it. Wouldn’t that be a coo?!” She replied disdainfully, face pouting spectacularly and Robb couldn’t help but smile at her near child-like petulance at not being able to have a grown-up’s drink.

 _For someone who always rebelled and scoffed at the finer things our upbringing could afford, the girl does like her champagne.’_ Robb thought to himself wryly.

Shaggydog started to yelp and nip and bat at the others out in the garden to bait one of his siblings into scuffling with him so Robb thought he had better head out before any blood was spilled.

He made his way to leave but had to turn back at the last minute, needing to say something to his sister.

“Yeah?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, posture straightening tensely, bracing herself.

“I just…I wanted to say how amazing I think it is that you’re doing this for Sansa.” He said simply, looking her straight in the eye as he said it. **_‘If someone doesn’t look you in the eye when their speaking, what their saying is probably bullshit.’_** He recalled Arya saying once.

“It’s nothing more than what you three have done.” She batted the compliment away with a shrug. “I’m just pulling my weight, that’s all.” She protested firmly and Robb had to grin. “What?!” She asked, face aggravated by his mirth, clearly thinking that she was the butt of some silent joke.

“Nothing. It’s just…that’s such a _you_ thing to say.” He smiled fondly back at her.

“I don’t know how to speak like anyone else.” She grumbled slightly as she looked off to the side, clearly not yet convinced that Robb wasn’t making fun of her.

“Well do me a favour and don’t learn.” He smiled, walking over to press a quick kiss to the top of her head and walking away quickly before she could get embarrassed or punch him or something else ‘Arya’ like that.

He looked back as he closed the glass door to the garden and could have sworn his sister was blushing.

*~*~*

Week Eight of the pregnancy came and Arya found herself at the clinic again with Sansa and Margaery in tow for a check-up. This was neither a required or, in Arya’s opinion, necessary check-up but Sansa insisted and Colemon relented. _‘He must have seen my sister, ‘The Cash-Cow’, coming a bloody mile off.’_

Eight weeks out of forty down and Arya was already finding her sister’s obsessive and attentive behaviour incredibly annoying but whenever Arya would start to feel her patience slipping, she would take a breath and remind herself that Sansa meant no harm.

_‘Ah well. Babe 20% downloaded at least.’_

“So, you want to come back to ours for the night?” Sansa asked happily, her hand, yet again, magnetised to Arya’s stomach as they walked out of the clinic through the automatic doors.

“That would be nice but a snowstorm’s supposed to be coming in in the next couple of hours; I really need to get home sooner rather than later.” Arya answered with a shrug, feeling bad at Sansa’s disappointed look.

“Awww.” Sansa whined, stomping her foot slightly and Arya had to press her lips together in a tight line to stop from smirking at the petulant gesture from the mother-to-be.

“Just feel me up a bit now to get you through the next couple of days.” Arya said, beginning to open up her jacket so Sansa could access her belly more easily. Sansa acquiesced eagerly, pulling her hands away slightly so that Arya could pull the sides away, which, unfortunately, left them hovering around her sister’s chest when a couple exited the clinic behind them, looking at them peculiarly as they clearly heard what Arya had said too, leaving Sansa no other option than to pull her hands away awkwardly.

“Hi. How you doing?” Margaery asked casually with her big fake smile and a nod, watching them scurry away in silence down the ramp.

“What do you mean, ‘couple of days’?” Sansa asked, directing her full attention away from her embarrassment and back to her sister.

“Well, you guys work in the day and I got stuff on the next few evenings.” Arya explained.

“Awww.” Sansa moaned again. “What ‘stuff’?”

 _‘Coaching Jory through a gym session and meeting with Hot Pie to discuss HP’s performance this quarter.’_ “Private stuff.” Arya answered with a challenging eyebrow raise.

“I just wish I could see more of you.” Sansa whined softly. Arya just shrugged her shoulders slightly as if to say, ‘Eh, what you gunna’ do?’ Sansa’s eyes suddenly became wide and a disconcerting smile crossed her face, making Arya want to take a cautious step back. “Oh my gods! You should totally move in with us.”

Arya didn’t know if she or Margaery looked more surprised at the offer.

Arya let out an awkward, short bark of a laugh out before she could stop herself. “I’m sorry Sansa, but you _must_ be joking.” Arya stated disbelievingly.

“What? Is that so strange? To want to be near you while you’re carrying our child?” Sansa asked, eyebrow raised, her expression silently declaring Arya unreasonable.

“No, not for most people. But, me and you, living together again?” Arya asked dubiously before scoffing.

“Yes.” Sansa replied simply. “Oh, wait, wait, wait!” She fired off quickly, holding up her hands in a ‘time out’ gesture. Sansa pulled Margaery off to the side and they began having some sort of rapid-fire, ‘only-the-other-person-in-the-couple-would-be-able-to-understand-it’ conversation.

Arya just shook her head in disbelief, crossing her arms, confident that Margaery would not go for this and the ridiculous idea would get blown out like a tea light in a hurricane.

A moment later her sister and good-sister walked back towards her, Sansa not looking at all deterred whilst Margaery looked torn, somewhere between appreciative fondness at Sansa and abject horror at Arya herself.

“So, what do you think?” Sansa asked eagerly, expression bright and enthusiastic.

“I think that we’d drive Margaery mental. I assume you still want to have a wife by the time the babe comes.” Arya tried to reason, squinting her eyes harshly and looking to Margaery to talk her wife out of this madness.

“I think you’re overexaggerating.” Sansa disregarded with a flick of the wrist.

“We’d kill each other!” Arya burst out, her attempt at calm reasoning left behind.

“No we wouldn’t.” Sansa argued dismissively.

“We barely made it through our adolescence, Sans.” Arya pointed out rationally, thinking back quickly to all the times that a sibling or parent had to step in to prevent a physical brawl from ensuing.

“Oh, come on! We’re older now. We’re a lot more grown up than we were then.” Sansa replied breezily, hooking her arm over Margaery’s shoulder’s with a smile.

“Yeah, we are but…an extended period of time together, even now, seems to revert us back to hair-pulling and name-calling.” Arya argued, still looking unconvinced and unimpressed.

“No it doesn’t…idiot.” Sansa said with a cheeky grin. At the steadfastness of Arya’s dubious look, she tried another tactic. “I get what you’re saying…but…this is the closest I’ll get to having the experience of a pregnancy. It would be weird, Mother calling me and updating me on the progress of _my_ child.” Sansa pleaded with a hint of resentment at the thought. “Besides, as much as you love being home, I know it’s driving you a bit mad, being back at the Manor, under constant parental supervision again.”

“And I suppose you’ll let me come and go as I please, stumbling in at all hours, with your bun in my oven?” Arya questioned with a scoff and raised eyebrow, knowing that there was only one answer her sister could give that would be believable.

“No. But at least you don’t feel bad, telling _me_ to fuck off.” Sansa stated with a smirk.

 _‘Hah! She’s got me there.’_ Arya thought to herself, tilting her head to the side and scratching her cheek while contemplating the madness that was the suggestion that she move in with her sister.

“And you? You think you can handle eight more months of this?” Arya questioned, turning to Margaery, with an almost pitying look on her face. _‘She’s the one that’s really going to suffer here.’_ Arya thought pityingly.

“Sure…” Margaery drew out with an encouraging smile that was only one-eigth grimace. Arya thought back to the first time that Sansa had introduced them to Margaery, back when they were still exclusively platonic. She remembered how much of an eye opener it had clearly been for Margaery when she had met Arya for the first time and saw first-hand that both Stark sisters together had brought out a fierce and darker side to her normally sweet-natured and gentle friend. _’Sansa and she weren’t even together back then; this could be interesting_.

*~*~*

Sansa, Margaery, Arya, Dacey, Lyra, Jorelle, Lyanna, Meera, Danaerys and Myrcella all sat down with their drinks for their girlie afternoon; ale’s, brandies, wine’s, cocktails and a mango juice for a significantly less enthusiastic Arya.

Arya sighed deeply as Margaery put the glass down in front of her.

“Don’t pout, Kid.” Dacey piped up with an enthusiastic smile. “How many times have you ever been made to play Reliant Robin for us before?” Dacey questioned superiorly.

“You’re all sure as fuck making up for it now.” Arya mumbled into her glass, hating having to drive her parents’ old mini-van just so that everyone else could have a drink.

“Come on, Ar. We may as well take advantage of the fact that you can’t get pissed with the rest of us. Do you remember that time that we had Aly come fetch us at four in the morning when she was seven months pregnant with the twins?” Lyra argued diplomatically.

Arya sighed but said no more, clearly not wanting to be a hypocrite and instead took her punishment on the chin.

“So, Meera. How’s the new house working out?” Sansa asked, taking the first spin of topic roulette.

“Yeah…” Jory drew out, her face the epitome of ‘pissed off’ though everyone knew she was joking. “How’s it going, living with our stolen housemate?”

Meera had the misfortune of having taken a seat between Jory and Lyra, the latter now looping her arm behind Meera’s shoulders as Jory scooted in closer. “Yeah, buddy.” Lyra chirped with a few firmer-than-necessary thuds to Meera’s back. “He…he does dishes, you know? Dishes!”

“We don’t like dishes.” Jory put in from her other side.

“No we do not.” Lyra agreed, the two of them a perfectly timed double act.

“Down girls!” Dacey commanded good-naturedly, using her ‘big sister voice’.

Lyra and Jory smirked, breaking character and taking pulls from their drinks.

“Yeah, anyway…” Meera diverted coolly whilst smirking, well averse in the Mormonts’ banter, “it’s going well. I think it’s a bit of an adjustment for him, living down in Greywater Watch but he seems to be enjoying it. He keeps getting lost though and can’t find the house. Just calls me in a panic and then I have to go fetch him.”

Everyone laughed at that. _‘Poor Bran.’ ___

__“Dacey, how are you finding The Reach? I can’t say that I’m not a little bit jealous.” Margaery asked, sounding a little melancholy and homesick so Sansa put her hand on her knee under the table._ _

__“It’s good.” Dacey smiled lazily. “Old Oak is a great place. Bit warm for my tastes but the coast down there is amazing. A different kind of blue than up here.” Dacey laughed._ _

__Dacey was in the Military like Jon but whilst Jon was in the Night’s Watch regiment of the Land Stags, Dacey was a soldier of the Sea Krackens. Since her, Jon and Robb had always been a tightknit trio whilst growing up, Dacey often joked that Robb should have joined the Air Eagles for balance but Robb cited more sound logic when making life-changing career choices._ _

__“Have you managed to travel around a bit on your days off yet?” Margaery pushed further, smiling fondly and Sansa knew that she was manipulating Dacey slightly, prodding her into just the right place before she could start seamlessly forcing suggestions and recommendations on her._ _

__“Uhhhh…” Dacey edged carefully, seemingly to buy herself time, and it was such a foreign and bizarre gesture from her that Sansa had to look around the table at the others to see if any of them had noticed the momentary loss of composure; Myrcella and Arya, whom were sat next to each other, both looked confused, Arya raising her eyebrow suspiciously but it was Dacey’s younger sisters that clearly smelt blood. “Yeah. I’ve made it down to Highgarden a couple of times since it’s just down the Ocean Road and all. Also been to Goldengrove, crossed the Mander on the boats which was wicked, and even made it to Oldtown once though it’s a bit far to _not_ be an overnighter.” Dacey said confidently, her previous hesitation completely gone, speaking with her normal, confident ease._ _

__“Who with?” Lyanna asked eagerly._ _

__“What?” Dacey asked though the irritation on her face clearly illustrated that she had heard perfectly well._ _

__“With whom did you travel?” Jory asked innocently, clarifying on behalf of her sister. “I’m assuming you didn’t go all alone for that ‘overnighter’?”_ _

__Dacey just shook her head and huffed a laugh into her horn of ale. “None of your bloody business, Sisters.”_ _

__“Awwww.” They both whined in petulant unison._ _

__“Shut it!” She full on laughed this time before tossing the beverage back completely._ _

__“Well tell us something about the bloke at least.” Jory urged, clearly desperate for a scrap of information to lord over her mother and Alysane._ _

__“It is a bloke, isn’t it?” Lyra teased softly. “Because I think we’ve more than proven that we believe that ‘love is love’.” Lyra implored, arms open with a nod to Sansa and Margaery whom were clearly supposed to represent ‘Lesbian Corner’. Sansa saw Lyanna fidget somewhat awkwardly on the other side of Margaery and if Sansa didn’t know any better, she’d think Lya was uncomfortable being lumped in with ‘the gays’. _‘Charming!’_ Sansa thought, a little miffed but more confused._ _

__“I like him enough not to jinx it just yet.” Dacey replied evenly. “That’s all you little shite’s are getting from me!” She pointed towards her younger siblings with mock-menace. “Next round?” Dacey asked casually, causing Dany to give herself a rather painful looking bout of brain freeze by trying to chug her ice-heavy _Braavosi Sunrise_ in five seconds. Dacey looked at Dany with a laugh but just continued counting the raised hands and mentally taking orders before leaving to go to the bar. As Dacey walked away, it seemed to Sansa that her gaze lingered in her direction for a second or two longer than Sansa could logically justify, a crease in her brow._ _

__All the females around the table looked at each other with smiles and raised eyebrows but said nothing, respecting the sacred invocation of ‘Shut up and I’ll buy the next round’. Sansa couldn’t help but consider it for a moment. Dacey had been the closest thing to a big sister that Sansa had had whilst growing up; Dacey was confident, unapologetic and also gorgeous in a scarily fierce way. Sansa could not remember a single instance of Dacey playing coy about a male before…except for a couple of years ago when it turned out she was shagging Theon. _‘Gods, I hope she’s not back with him.’_ Sansa prayed silently, remembering how it had made things a bit awkward for Robb and even more so for Jon who absolutely despised him._ _

__When Dacey returned, laden with more drinks than was necessarily required five minutes after buying the first set, it was Myrcella’s turn to take a stab at the conversation. “So, Ar. How’s being pregnant?”_ _

__Arya let out a long sigh to think of her answer. “It’s alright.” She answered evenly making everyone laugh at her typically apathetic attitude. “Well, come on!” She implored at the teasing. “I’m only nine weeks along. At the minute, it’s probably only about the size of a…” She started then struggled to think of an adequate comparison._ _

__“An olive.” Sansa supplied helpfully. “A really cute one! Probably not even an inch long yet.” She demonstrated by holding her fingers the correct distance apart._ _

__“Cool.” Meera enthused from across the table._ _

__“Yeah.” Arya picked up. “So I don’t really feel any different at the minute.”_ _

__“Well, you’re looking good, Ar.” Dany complimented, raising her glass up to her._ _

__“Yeah, just a little bit bloated.” Lyra put in evenly._ _

__Arya glared at her best friend but Jory jumped in to save her sister from swift, Stark retribution. “Your tits in particular; they look cracking.”_ _

__Arya looked down at herself, considering what Jory said before shrugging. “I prefer having clothes that fit.” Arya replied, taking a gulp of her juice._ _

__“That’s good because your tits are actually probably average at best.” Lyanna put in with a smirk around the rim of her glass, making Lyra guffaw loudly in approval._ _

__“So how are you going to distinguish between the two of you?” Dany piped up, whilst apparently deeming that all of the umbrellas and straws in her beverage were slowing down her consumption so set about removing each from her glass. “I mean, what are you both going to be called?” She clarified her question, looking to Sansa and Margaery now._ _

__Sansa looked to Margaery and smiled at the question. “Well, Marge is going to follow her mother and go by ‘Mum’.” Sansa answered, squeezing the knee still underneath her hand._ _

__“Not ‘Mummy’?” Dacey asked as Lyra made a face, obviously deeming it ‘too Southern’._ _

__“No.” Margaery answered with a smile. “Even when we were toddlers, we never called my Mum ‘Mummy’. I think she thought it too cutesy.” All the Northerners around the table nodded, clearly agreeing._ _

__“I don’t think I’d responded if my kid called me ‘Mummy’.” Lyra stated seriously. “I’d be like, _“Sorry kid, you got the wrong person”_ and walk away.”_ _

__Dacey rolled her eyes at her sister’s dramatic statement while Jory just giggled, possibly in agreement._ _

__“What about you, Sans?” Myrcella asked. “You going to follow yours and be called ‘Mother’?”_ _

__“I don’t think so, actually.” Sansa answered, softly shaking her head. “Mother is ‘Mother’. Besides, I think I prefer the more Northern ‘Mam’.” She revealed with a smile._ _

__“Good girl.” Dacey winked and smiled in approval, patting Sansa’s knee reassuringly, yet painfully, as praise._ _

__“Mam?” Myrcella asked._ _

__“Mam.” Margaery confirmed._ _

__“Ooooooohhhhh.” Jory drew out with a grimace. “It sounds weird with your accents.”_ _

__“Mam!” Dany threw in eagerly._ _

__“I’m not even sure what she just said then.” Dacey stage whispered to the others. _‘They’re constantly taking the piss out of the poor girl’s accent.’_ Sansa thought, feeling sorry for her new good-sister though Dany just smiled at being included in the banter, as usual. “Well, either way, Mum, Mam, Ma or Mother,” Dacey announced raising her glass, “you’ll both make great mothers, no matter what you’re called. Jory, get the next round in so we can wet this babe’s head properly.” All of the girls cheered and raised their glass at that, even Arya whom was wearing a small smile and Sansa flushed happily as Margaery pressed a kiss to her cheek._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoyed and all reads/kudos/comments are appreciated.
> 
> *WC68*


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter; let's go!
> 
> *WC68*

“Mother-” Arya attempted one more time.

“I just don’t see why it’s necessary. Sansa and Margaery will be working in the days and you’ll be all by yourself.” Catelyn argued, an unhappy crease to her brow.

“I’ll still be knocking around here all the time, Mother. It’ll be like I never left.” Arya tried to placate.

“Then why leave?” Her Mother argued rationally.

 _‘I really should have let Big Sis have this dubious pleasure.’_ Arya thought resentfully. Sansa and a slightly more jittery Margaery had remained committed to the decision that Arya should move in with them for the duration of the pregnancy so Arya had heedlessly broached the topic with her Mother whilst they were stood in the kitchen of the Manor together and, foolishly, when her Father was not there to step in and help her. “Come on, Mother. This is their babe. They’ll feel left out of it if they can’t see me more.”

“But I’ve actually been pregnant! I can help you through this with the voice of experience.” Catelyn reasoned desperately.

Arya winced slightly, knowing that her Mother had gotten a bit caught up in the debate and didn’t realise what she’d said. “Please don’t say that in front of Sansa.” Arya pleaded in a whisper.

Catelyn eyes grew a little wider before her face crumpled guiltily, looking down, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. Arya sighed and stepped up to her Mother’s side, putting her hands to her shoulders when her own arms came up to wrap around her youngest daughter. “Oh, Arya. I feel like we’ve only just got you back after two years away and now you’re running off again.”

Arya bristled but shook her head and the comment off quickly, well-practiced in diverting her Mother’s passive-aggressive blows. “I’m not ‘running off’, Mother. I’m going to live with your daughter so that she can have her own daughter close.” Catelyn pulled away at that, eyes wide. “I don’t know daughter I just went with it; it kind of fitted in with what I wanted to get across.” Arya clarified. Catelyn let out a small laugh and the usual head shake that accompanied most things that Arya did yet still came across as fond. “Come on, Mother. It will be fine.” Arya stated firmly, rubbing her hands up and down her Mother’s arms soothingly.

Her Mother let out a long tired sigh. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Arya stated confidently. “Come on now. I know what will cheer you up.”

Catelyn’s eyes got wide again, face going slack. “No, no, no…” She stated, walking quickly away from her daughter.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes…” Arya returned with a wide smile, catching up to her Mother quickly, getting her arms around her thighs then lifting her off of her feet.

“Ah! Arya! Ayra, put me down!” Catelyn yelled and it echoed harshly off of the stone and marble of the kitchen along with her giggles whilst her hands clutched tightly to her daughter’s shoulders.

“There, there, Mother. I’ve got you.” Arya consoled as she swung her from side to side, Shaggydog and Nymeria running around them, barks mingling with laughter.

*~*~*

“That didn’t take long.” Margaery commented, impressed, as Arya took a seat next to her on the sofa, moaning as she sank down into the cushions.

“I don’t really have much. Living out of a suitcase for two years teaches you to be quite minimalist, I reckon.” Margaery nodded in agreement, conceding the point. “Bet you wish your hoarder wife could try that approach for once?”

 _‘Wife Trap!’_ Went off in her head like a siren. “Sansa just gets attached to things, that’s all. It’s cute.” Margaery delivered perfectly.

“And I take care of things better than you so I don’t have to throw things away as often!” Sansa shouted from the kitchen.

Arya looked at Margaery impressed, giving her a nod of approval at sensing Sansa’s eager ears listening. “Well played.” Arya whispered. “Anyway, I’m starving! Want a sandwich?” Arya offered as she made her way into the kitchen.

“No thank you, I’m good with my tea.” Margaery replied holding up her cup for emphasis.

“Coolio. Just so you know though, you will notice a significant increase in the household bread and milk consumption.” Arya stated to the both of them as she walked from one room to the other.

“Then feel free to pick some up yourself.” Sansa argued from the next room which led to a bickering match that Margaery turned into white noise. _‘Out of room, out of mind.’_ Margaery told herself, focusing on the sketch pad in front of her.

Margaery’s focus on her sketches was intense as she considered the design that she was hoping to commit to canvas at some point in the near future though it wasn’t ‘just right’ at the moment. She lifted her tea to her lips, trying to determine if it was the angle in the curve at the top right corner or the shading in the middle that was her most pressing concern when she was jarred rather harshly from her left side, jolting her arm and making her lukewarm tea splash up and onto her face slightly. She blew air out of her nostrils quickly to clear it of liquid and wiped a tissue over and around her mouth to get the rest. “Nymeria!” She scolded, annoyed.

Arya’s grey, behemoth beast looked unconcerned, bringing her head in again to butt against her arm when Margaery realised she wanted to be petted. Nymeria had always intimidated her slightly. Margaery had been somewhat taken aback when she had met Lady for the first time but Nymeria was significantly larger than her littermate; she was also not as friendly as Summer, calm as Grey Wind or silent like Ghost, all of whom Margaery had interacted with most often before. _‘All except Shaggydog; that mutt is crazy!’_ Margaery shivered internally.

Nymeria, however, would not be ignored and butted insistently at Margaery’s arm again, this time letting out a petulant whine as accompaniment. Margaery gave up and somewhat hesitantly, lifted a hand to Nymeria’s head, stroking behind her right ear as she did with Lady that caused her to let out a low, pleased growl of approval while closing her eyes. Margaery smiled and picked up her tea again, absently petting the wolf while her attention went back to her sketches. A moment or so later and Lady joined them, front legs climbing up on the sofa to bury her head in the crook of Margaery’s elbow, whining slightly at the lack of attention she was getting. “Oh, for Crone’s sake!” Margaery swore softly to herself, putting her tea down on the table and petting Lady similarly, synchronising affection for both canine’s.

She continued blindly petting the dogs while considering the book in her lap when Nymeria demanded more and actually jumped up onto the sofa to lay out next to her. “No! Bad dog!” Margaery called out though her words had about as much of an effect on Nymeria as the oil crisis in Ulthos. Lady let out an indignant whine, her expression clearly accusing, _“I’m not supposed to be allowed on the sofa so why is she?”_

“No, no, no, Lady!” Margaery tried to dissuade her but to no avail because Lady then also jumped up, climbing over Margaery. Margaery quickly scooped up her sketchbook and threw it over their furry heads and onto the coffee table to save it before Lady started nuzzling her head into Margaery’s neck while Nymeria started to chew slightly on her little finger in response to her hand having stopped it’s petting.

“What the hell are you doing?” Arya asked from the corner of the room, considering Margaery with wry amusement. Margaery was unable to answer, huffing and spitting to try to get the fur unstuck from her tongue and out of her mouth.

Sansa followed a second later, letting out a gasp at the dogs climbing over the furniture. “Not on the sofa!” She called out dramatically. “Lady! Nymeria! Down!” She ordered whilst clicking her fingers and both wolves jumped off of the sofa immediately, slinking away to their beds by the fire.

“They’ve bloody got you figured out, haven’t they?” Arya laughed to herself. “Soft touch!” She announced as she walked closer to sit down on the chair.

“Why didn’t you tell them to get down?” Sansa asked accusingly, her face serious.

“Wha…” Margaery started but began to see red so gathered up her book, pencils and what was left of her tea before stomping up the stairs and mumbling to herself darkly. “I’ll do this in my office…Some bloody peace and quiet, that’s what I need…Soft touch…Did tell them…”

Arya snort-laughed while biting both lips between her teeth, giving the same look to Sansa that she used to give when they were children; a look that clearly said, ‘Mother is mad and it’s hilarious!’

*~*~*

Sansa looked up at the school as the fire fighters were marching around, standing in groups and trying to organise themselves.

The entire school was stood out in the freezing cold, little faces pressed into little hands, blowing little puffs of air into them to stay warm.

The Headteacher was calmly walking around, calling out commands to teachers and students alike, the exact thing that Sansa should be doing but she _had_ to make a phone call first.

The line rang a few times before Margaery's crackly voice answered. _"Hello?"_

"Hey Bambi, it's me." She said quietly, poking her head out from behind the tree she was hiding behind, trying to keep everything in her sight whilst remaining out of the Head's.

 _"Hello?!"_ Margaery called again, as though she hadn't heard Sansa at all. _"Sansa?"_ The static was buzzing loudly and Sansa had to put her finger to the ear not pressed to the phone just to hear her.

"Marge?" She asked again.

 _"Oh, that's a bit better. Look-"_ Margaery started, still quiet but moderately more clear.

"No. Sorry, if your signal is bad I need to tell you quickly. I'm not going to make it to the appointment. The fire alarm’s gone off and they won't let us go back in until the entire place has been checked."

_"Crap! That's what I was going to call you for."_

"For what?" Sansa asked confused.

_"I'm not going to make it either."_

"What?!" Sansa shrieked, drawing the curious glances of a few of the younger students. She smiled reassuringly in response until they went back to their conversations so she could go back to her own. "What do you mean you can't make it? It's the first scan! We can't both _not_ be there!"

_"Well, a mini-blizzard has hit The Dreadfort and I'm stuck in it. What do you want me to do, Sansa? I could put my fucking foot down but then there'd be a 97% chance you'd be raising our babe alone!"_

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." Sansa soothed, knowing how much her wife disliked driving in The North and how downright agitated she got when driving during snowfall, unused to the terrain and weather of the harsher climate. “Look, I’ll just call Arya and tell her to get Jon or…” The instant lack of crackly interference made Sansa look at her phone and, sure enough, the call was no longer connected. _‘Godsdamn! Looks like her signal went.’_ She was huffing in irritation when she noticed the red, practically empty, battery bar at the top right corner of her screen and panicked. She opened her contacts list, intending to call Arya straight away when the screen went black. “Balls!”

A small group of nearby student’s turned to her, wide eyed with shock, no doubt at hearing the Deputy Head curse. The boys just looked at her, silent as she looked back at them, trying to think up a recovery option. “Lucan!” She called out to him, making him jump and quiver with nerves. “Balls!”

Lucan, looked around at his friends then back to Sansa so fast his black hair swayed comically, his brown eyes fearful. “M’sorry, Mrs Stark?”

She sighed and closed her eyes as if it were obvious. “The balls, Lucan. Please pick up the balls and take them to the shed so the younger students don’t get tempted to play and wander off.” She stated calmly as she began to walk over to The Head. “And the rest of you help him, please.” She called as an afterthought to the others.

“Yes, Mrs Stark.” They all chorused in unison, running to collect the few stray balls scattered across the yard where they fire assembly point was.

 _‘Bloody hell! That was close.’_ She thought to herself as she walked away, knowing just by looking at the Headteacher that she had pushed her absence as far as was possible in the situation. _‘Crap! I don’t know Arya’s number off of the top of my head! Arya was going to meet us at the appointment so she’s no doubt not at home, my charger is inside and if I wander off again it will be noted.’_ She hoped, somewhat dubiously, that Margaery had just overestimated the severity of the snow and could make it back to Winterfell on time to meet Arya but she sincerely doubted it and did not have time to ponder any further.

*~*~*

She pulled to a screeching halt in front of the clinic and saw Margaery leap out of her car a couple of spaces along. "Did you just get here too?" She asked as she fumbled from her seat, angrily shrugging off the seatbelt that clung to her.

"Yeah. Sorry, the roads were-" Margaery started, her face showing disappointment and annoyance.

"No, no. We're here now, that's what matters. Maybe Ar didn't even go in when we didn't show up." Sansa said, holding out her hand so they could walk up the ramp to reception together.

"Didn't she know we weren't going to make it?"

Sansa groaned and explained the dead battery situation.

They got to main reception and looked around and saw Arya sitting in the corner, ankles crossed, twiddling her thumbs. She glanced up, spotting them and looking little impressed. They walked over and Sansa started explaining the situation the two of them had found themselves in in a mad rush.

Arya seemed to listen dispassionately for a moment before her face cracked into a wry grin. "Chill out, Sans. I'm totally fucking with you. I didn't think for a second that either of you didn't show up just because you couldn't be arsed. I was more worried than anything when I couldn’t get hold of you both, truth be told." Arya smiled as she stood and Sansa took her first breath since starting her explanation.

Sansa smiled softly and finally seemed to relax. "Great. So, did you go in?"

"Yeah." Arya answered, looking a little wary. "I know you wanted to be there but Colemon was booked up for the next month and I didn't think you'd want to wait that long? Was that okay?"

Truthfully, Sansa was disappointed but she would never have been able to wait a month to find out that everything was okay; she couldn't wait another second. Thankfully, Margaery seemed to be of the same thought.

"That's fine, Arya. That was the right choice. So, what's the news?" Margaery asked, wringing her hands slightly.

"Oh, all good!" Arya chirped, looking a bit sheepish that she didn't say that straight away. "Heartbeats good. Healthy, healthy."

Sansa smiled widely and hugged Arya's head to her chest, jarring her slightly by jumping up and down in excitement. "Amazing! He mentioned a video before. Did he make a video of the scan?" She asked eagerly.

Arya's face fell a little bit. "Sorry, the machine wasn't working. He said next time though, for sure."

Sansa's face fell slightly, disappointed that she wouldn't even get the second-hand experience of the first scan but there was no point dwelling on it now. "Oh, okay."

Sansa hugged Arya closer. "Shall we go home then? Chill out on the sofa or something?" Sansa asked as they started to make their way towards the exit.

"Uh, Robb's Name Day dinner?" Arya reminded with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh no!" Sansa wailed, throwing her head back and covering her eyes with her hands. "I forgot his present, it's still back at the house."

"Well, I could go get it, pick up Nymeria and Lady and meet you at the manor?" Arya offered helpfully.

"How did you get here?" Sansa asked curiously, looking around at the car park and not being able to see Bran's car anywhere.

"Hot Pie dropped me off. I could take Margaery's car? It would save you coming back here to fetch it later." Arya reasoned.

Margaery nodded emphatically at the suggestion, clearly happy with any plan that involved her _not_ driving again. "Sounds great." Sansa enthused, waving distractedly whilst rushing to her car, fully aware that they were already late, pulling Margaery behind her who hastily threw the keys to her good-sister.

*~*~*

Robb blew out the candles on his cake, trying to look put out at all the attention but Margaery could see the same pleased flush in his cheeks that Sansa would get sometimes.

Catelyn clapped emphatically, like he was still five years old, before cutting up and handing out healthy slabs of cake the size of doorstop wedges to everyone.

The one thing Margaery found bizarre when she moved to Winterfell to be with her Northern girlfriend was their excessive food portions; quantity was prioritised over quality every time. Northerners could have a small serving of nectar and ambrosia direct from the gods and still ask for seconds.

“Whilst appreciating that you don’t want to steal the Name Day Boy’s thunder, know that he’s been milking it all day,” Myrcella started, stroking a hand through Robb’s thick hair while he shovelled cake into his mouth heartily, “so, that being said, tell us about the appointment, other than ‘everything’s well’.” Myrcella looked at Sansa and Margaery expectantly, taking a daintier forkful of cake than her husband had.

Margaery and Sansa looked at each other awkwardly. “Well actually…” Margaery started.

“ _Actually_ ,” Arya interrupted, holding up her fork for emphasis, “these two pulled a ‘conceive and leave’ and left me there on my lonesome.” Arya looked over at Sansa and Margaery, eyes wide and, Margaery was impressed to see, glassy with tears. “I just didn’t think that you two were the type to get a girl knocked up and then leave her holding the swollen, pregnant belly.” She stated, voice choked with emotion before looking away dramatically.

Sansa just rolled her eyes at her sister’s teasing while everyone else looked at them expectantly but curiously. “There was a series of unfortunate events.” Margaery answered, her attention immediately being consumed by the slice of heaven in her mouth.

Sansa went on to explain said series of unfortunate events while everyone listened, laughed, commented and asked questions as was common place around the Stark dinner table.

“So it was all good then, Arya?” Dany asked politely over her empty plate. _‘Bloody hell! She can put it away for such a tiny girl.’_ Margaery thought idly, enjoying her own dessert with a bit more savouring.

“Yeah, yeah.” Arya replied, smirking around her fork queerly. Margaery liked to think that if her thoughts had not been so consumed with the taste of the buttercream icing melting on her tongue, she would have noticed that smirk and all that it represented, i.e., nothing good. “Good size, good heart beat; overall, good progress.” Arya concluded, sitting back and linking her hands behind her head in a self-satisfied manner. “They’re both doing really well.” She finished, eyes closed and smile wide.

Everyone around the table went deathly silent and she heard Sansa’s fork scrape horribly across the plate as her body jarred forward. _‘Mmmmmm. Good cake.’_ Margaery thought to herself happily. “Who’s ‘both’?” Margaery asked, laughing slightly in confusion before swallowing her mouthful of desert.

"Arya," Sansa started slowly, her hesitant tone reaching Margaery in her cake induced euphoria, "are you saying what we think you're saying?"

"What do we think she's saying?" Margaery asked, more focused now but still reaching for the cream and pouring it over her desert.

Arya smiled softly at Sansa and Margaery. "In roughly 26-28 weeks, you will be taking home a beautiful set of twins." Arya confirmed, beaming smile in place.

Margaery inhaled sharply in surprise, cake and cream travelling at a high velocity down her oesophagus and into her lungs, making her cough and splutter deeply. The single second of (otherwise) silence seemed to stretch for hours but Margaery still wasn't anymore composed when it was broken by her wife's scream of happiness. She sprung from her seat, shaking Margaery's shoulders for a moment, seemingly trying to ensure that she was paying attention before running around the table to Arya.

“I mean, I _assume_ they’re beautiful. I’ve not met them or anything yet.” Arya joked as she watched Sansa make her way around the table.

“Definitely will; good genes.” Bran smiled somewhat awestruck from next to Arya, gripping her shoulder in happiness.

Margaery tried valiantly to move her face at all from its frozen shock, a twitch of a muscle, anything, but she couldn’t get her body to cooperate. Sansa was giggling and smiling uncontrollably, pulling Arya's chair out before throwing herself down on her knees to press her ear to her stomach. "Hello Babies." Her head popped up slightly to look at Margaery over the table. "Plural!" She enthused happily.

Margaery finally felt her face move slightly into what she hopped was an encouraging expression as she nodded her head; she wasn't sure if she actually pulled it off or if Sansa was actually that excited that she didn't notice…or care.

"This is amazing." Sansa whispered softly, face now pressed to Arya's belly again.

Arya lifted her hand to her sister’s head, trying to clamp down on the pleased smile and flush fighting its way onto her face. _'Huh. Guess it's not just Sansa and Robb that get that pleased-pink in their cheeks.'_ Margaery noted absently.

"I...kind of fibbed about that machine being broken too." Arya started before pulling a shiny disc in a plastic case from under her place mat. _‘What a little manipulator! She’s developed a flair for dramatics since she’s been abroad, that’s for damn certain!’_ Margaery thought to herself disbelievingly.

“Ah! My gods!” Sansa shrieked, jumping up again, clutching the case to her chest as if it were a lifeline. “We have to watch it now!” She proclaimed, running into the living room. “Sorry Robb.” She added as an afterthought as she passed her brother.

Robb just hid a bemused grin and shook his head, rubbing his wife’s arm.

Margaery still couldn’t get her legs to move. She took a deep breath as Catelyn, Ned, Bran, Meera, Dany and Myrcella followed Sansa into the living room. “You okay?” Arya asked, now looking at Margaery with a concerned look from across the table.

“Yeah.” Margaery answered, sounding unsure, even to her own ears. “I’m sorry. I’m happy! Obviously! I’m just surprised. Twins! Your uterus really is hospitable.” Margaery finished with a disbelieving chuckle.

“That’s what all the guys say.” Rickon stated with a lecherous smirk on his face, the smile he sent to his sister goading.

Jon’s hand suddenly flew up and slapped Rickon around the back of the head. “What?! Why are _you_ hitting me?”

“There are two babes now. I think there needs to be two designated cuffers for annoying the ‘Baby Buggy’; one for each pup. Can I get a designated second to tag team with Sans?” Jon offered to the near-empty room at large in invitation.

“Right here!” Robb called out, raising his hand high with his signature lazy smile in place whilst still managing to look sincere, meeting eyes with his little sister for a second and Margaery could feel a weighted tension in the glance.

“Margaery!” Sansa called from the living room, excitement and impatience overflowing in her voice.

Margaery knew that the colour still hadn’t returned to her face but put on a brave smile for everyone. “Guess that’s my cue.” She stated as she stood from the table on shaky legs and joined her wife in the other room.

As soon as she made it through the entryway she saw Sansa sat on her knees in front of the television and whom, upon seeing Margaery, instantly started to wave her over enthusiastically in invitation to take a seat. Margaery smiled at everyone as she took a seat on the floor next to her wife in lieu of one of the empty sofa’s or chairs.

Sansa pressed ‘play’ eagerly before wrapping an arm around Margaery’s shoulders and pulling her tight to her side, smiling at her widely and pressing a kiss to the side of her head; that was all Margaery really needed to clear her airway.

The screen lit up and Margaery wasn’t really sure of what she was seeing. It kind of looked like a couple of potatoes with some smaller potatoes flanking them in some sort of choreographed formation or other but Sansa started to coo and fill up nearly straight away so Margaery grabbed her knee to offer support.

“What the fuck are we looking at?” Rickon questioned dubiously from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa, his face crinkled in confusion like he was contemplating molecular string theory.

“Rickon!” Catelyn chastised on autopilot at his language. “Well, that’s the head.” She pointed confidently to one of the larger potato shapes.

“Actually Mother, I think that bit’s the head.” Arya started, pointing to adjacent-potato. “Then that white bit that’s shaped like Leng is his or her’s brother or sister. I think he/she’s just in the middle of a tuck and roll move.” Arya explained with a scrunch in her forehead, considering the screen like it was an abstract piece of art, the meaning in the eye of the beholder. “That’s what Colemon said anyway. An athletic foetus; gets it from me.” She joked confidently.

“You didn’t put any genetic information into this recipe.” Rickon argued, crossing his now trunk-like arms over his barrel chest.

“Osmosis.” Arya replied simply. “The passing of a liquid, gas or desirable trait from a region of high concentration,” Arya indicated herself, “to a region of low concentration.” Arya indicated her growing belly, looking at them pitifully. “Honestly guys! You had _one_ job to do!”

All the Stark kids and their partners started to banter back and forth with each other except for Margaery and Sansa; Sansa had her eyes closed and a small smile on her face, seemingly trying to memorise the heartbeats overlapping each other coming from the television and Margaery couldn’t do anything but press quick kisses to her temple and squeeze her tighter. _‘You can totally do this.’_ She encouraged herself.

*~*~*

“Nice reveal.” Robb’s voice spoke from behind her.

Arya turned and considered her older Brother, turning back to the kettle when she heard it click to signify that it had boiled. “Thanks.”

“You know, if you find yourself stuck like that again, you can call me.” Arya looked at him, confused, causing him to elaborate in a ramble. “With the lack of a lift. I know you would go to Jon or Bran as a first port of call…or Dad. But Jon and Bran are away and…Rickon’s doing better but he’s still not the most reliable. I’m here…if you need me.”

“I know.” Arya replied, straight-faced.

Robb looked at the floor and nodded his head a few times. “Okay then. Good. Okay.” He rambled as he continued to nod, making his way towards the door.

The further away from her he got, the worse she felt, his hangdog, puppy expression ruinning her for some reason. _‘Bloody hormones.’_

“I don’t like this.” She called out, making him pause at the doorway. She saw him turn in her periphery vision but did not lift her head to meet his eyes.

“Me neither.” He agreed softly.

She did look up at him then and the soppy sod looked so sad and lost that Arya rolled her eyes and nodded her head significantly; _come here_ , it said.

He walked over cautiously and when he was close enough, without a word, she burrowed herself under his strong arms, wrapping her own around his waist. She heard him swallow loudly above her before his arms tightened and locked around her, squeezing her tightly into him, almost _too_ tightly considering there was a very pregnant belly between them containing ‘Starks: The Next Generation’.

 _‘He’s going to cuddle the shit out of these pups when they come.’_ Arya thought to herself, an uninvited smile creeping onto her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, I'm running low on my store of chapters...dangerously low. I'll try to keep this pace for as long as I can but I'll probably have to put it back to posting once a month soon. Just mentally preparing y'all now.
> 
> As always, would love to read your reactions, thoughts, comments, opinions on the current global economic crisis, etc. =D
> 
> *WC68*


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that we all need something to take our minds of off that last episode, don't we?
> 
> *WC68*

“Stop moving!” Margaery reprimanded, holding Arya’s stomach steady.

“It tickles!” Arya giggled, not looking or sounding nearly so fierce as she normally did, holding her old Winterfell Preparatory School Fencing Team shirt up to keep her growing, eleven-week-pregnant belly exposed.

“Outline is done, just need to colour it in.” Margaery clarified, switching the colour of her felt tip pen, her gaze focused and determined. “How are you doing with Sansa’s exercise ban?” Margaery asked cautiously. Arya had not responded well when Sansa had stated that exercise with twins was not recommended but Arya had seemingly gone away and done some research of her own and, upon knowing that it wasn’t just another instance of Sansa being overly-cautious, the younger girl conceded with no further arguments…just a passive-aggressive, pissed off eye-roll. However, Margaery couldn’t help but notice her good-sisters reticence as of late and felt obliged to ask.

“Dude, I am so fucking bored. It’s unreal. I’m still going home to take Rick through his paces but it’s not the same; I’m basically pointing and barking at him. It was so much more fun when I could put him to shame and really rub his face in it! It feels like all I can do is walk so I spend most of the day wandering around the streets. Honestly, I think I’m starting to look a bit dodgy to your neighbours.” Arya stated evenly, making Margaery laugh.

“Well, now that I’m taking on more projects at work the errands for the house aren’t getting done as often. If you wouldn’t mind, maybe you could-”

“Yes, yes, gods yes! Give me something to do! Please!” Arya begged, moving to grab Margaery’s shoulders in desperation, making Margaery pull the pen away from her belly quickly to save her project from errors when so close to the finishing line.

“Sure. We can sort that out, no problem. I’ve noticed the place has been pretty clean of late so thanks for that too.” Margaery smiled, pushing on Arya’s shoulder to force her to recline again so that Margaery could continue.

“Desperate times…” Arya drawled pitifully making Margaery laugh again as she continued her task. “So,” Arya started, trying to keep her stomach as still as possible, “twins, huh?”

“Yep.” Margaery nodded, her focus remaining on her artwork.

Silence followed.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry that I sprung it on you and made you go all…comatose-y.” Arya said sincerely, looking a little sheepish. “I mean, I knew that Sansa would eat that shit up but I didn’t really think about your reaction, truth be told.”

Margaery let out a big sigh but wasn’t angry at Arya at all. “Well, you were right about Sansa.” Margaery laughed, knowing that Sansa loved the rare occasion that someone could get something past her for long enough to surprise her. _‘It’s such a rarity, after all.’_ “But I’m not angry with you. I’m just…argh…” She trailed off, stuck for words on how to explain. “Embarrassed, I suppose.”

“Embarrassed?” Arya asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “What have you got to feel embarrassed about?”

“You know,” Margaery edged, switching to a new colour again, “being all ‘comatose-y’.” She chuckled. “Just another example of Sansa dealing with everything better than me.” She mumbled to herself, shaking her head in frustration.

“What was that?” Arya asked though she had clearly heard.

 _‘Damn! You’re not really whispering to **just** yourself when someone’s head is less than a foot away from your own, Margaery!’_ She chastised herself internally. “Oh, nothing.” She blew off with a smile and a blasé shrug.

Arya said nothing for a long moment but Margaery could feel her stare boring into the crown of her head. “So, feeling a little…unprepared next to my sister, are you?”

“Meh, I wouldn’t say that.” Margaery said coolly. _‘That’s exactly what I would say!’_

“Wouldn’t you? What would you say?” Arya pressed on, heedless of Margaery’s discomfort.

Margaery blew out a breath and rubbed her head in agitation, unknowingly, smearing orange ink across her forehead. “Look, Ar, I’m not sure you’re really the right person to talk to about this.” Margaery stated diplomatically, hoping that her good-sister would back down.

“You’re talking to someone who has spent the majority of their childhood and teen years life feeling inferior next to Sansa Stark; I’d say I’m the best fucking person to talk to about this.” Arya argued logically. When Margaery remained silent, Arya pushed further. “Come on.” She cajoled softly. “We’re all in this together aren’t we?”

Margaery looked at Arya carefully, playing with the pen top in her hand as she considered relieving some of her worries to someone who might actually understand exactly where she’s coming from. “Sansa’s so…composed about everything, all the time.” Margaery deflected, as though to say, _“If she can keep it together all of the time then so can I.”_ “It’s just…Sansa really does know all of this stuff. It’s a little bit…I don’t know…overwhelming, the amount of facts and details and information that she knows that I just don’t have a clue about. **“Week Seven, our babe is the size of a blueberry…Babes can taste things from inside the womb via the amniotic fluid…If you have heartburn while pregnant, the babe is more likely to be born with a head full of hair…The longest recorded pregnancy ever was one year and ten days…”** ”

Arya sat up straighter at that. “How long?” She squeaked, sounding panicked.

Margaery seemed to come back to herself at the exceedingly high pitch in Arya’s voice. “Oh yeah, you weren’t there when she said that, were you? She didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Who’s freaked out?” Arya asked with mock casualness though her pitch still resembled something that would be easier for Lady and Nymeria to pick up on. “Besides,” She took a calming breath before addressing Margaery again, “you just recounted all that stuff. You’ve taken it in and now you know it too. It doesn’t matter if you read it in a book or heard it from her.”

Margaery was silent for several moments, focus going back to her belly-canvas while Arya remained silent. “I really do want this you know.” She said quietly yet impassioned. “I’ve not wanted it for as long as Sansa has; I didn’t lie in bed as a little girl dreaming about it or picturing what my kids would look like but I do now. I want it…with her. Sometimes I worry that she thinks I’m just…doing it _for_ her, to an extent, instead of for _us_.”

“If she does think that, which I don’t necessarily agree with you that she does, you’ll show her that that’s not the case and she’ll know it’s for the both of you too.” Arya stated confidently and Margaery hoped she was right. Arya’s eyes then lit up with the glow of a forgotten memory returning. “You know, when I made this offer to Sansa originally, she didn’t understand why I made it just to her. She kept saying, **“This is for us…this is for me and Marge…”** so maybe she does already feel that way.”

“Hopefully.” Margaery agreed with a small smile, not necessarily convinced but determined to convince Sansa all the same.

Sansa walked through the front door half an hour later with Lady and Nymeria from their walk with Robb, Grey Wind, Dany and Ghost. “Hey!” She called happily as she walked through the door.

“Hey!” They both responded, Margaery happily putting the finishing touches on her artwork. Nymeria and Lady barrelled into the living room a moment before Sansa came in, the larger dog shaking off the snow from her coat impatiently while her sister seemed to glare at the action, nudging her slightly in reproach as she went passed. “Guess what, Babe?” Margaery asked excitedly, considering her masterpiece for a moment before turning happily to her wife. “I got my inspiration back!” Margaery enthused, clearly pleased with herself, as Arya stood up on her knees from her perch on the sofa, flashing her stomach proudly for her sister to see. For the last hour, Margaery had been painstakingly drawing a pair of baby foetus’ on the rapidly growing taut skin of Arya’s abdomen; they were curled around each other, their figures slightly distorted with enlarged heads, one with a mop of short, red hair and the other with matching, styled brunette locks, both with identical beetle, black eyes on a colourful psychedelic background.

“What do you think?” Arya asked, clearly proud that she had remained still for long enough to allow Margaery to complete her artwork.

Sansa’s face was frozen in a somewhat bizarre expression, smile fixed in place though it didn’t reach her sapphire eyes. “Wow…great!” She choked out. “I’m going…I need to change.” She announced suddenly before running quickly up the stairs.

Arya had clearly noted that something was off with her sister too and nodded to Margaery to go check on her.

Margaery nodded, placing all the pens back on the table carefully before standing slowly, readjusting her clothes absent-mindedly before following her wife at a more sedate pace to give her a moment to herself.

Margaery slowly opened their bedroom door, poking her head warily into the room to see Sansa sat with her shoulders slumped at the head of the bed. Margaery couldn’t see her face but as the floorboards creaked upon her entering the room, Sansa lifted her hands to her face quickly and appeared to be wiping her eyes from behind the curtain of auburn hair, small sniffles escaping her mouth as she did so.

Margaery closed the door softly behind her, before crawling onto the bed unhurriedly, cuddling into Sansa’s back and placing quick, comforting kisses to the side of her neck. “What’s wrong, my Sweet Wolf?”

“Nothing.” Sansa replied an autopilot as she always did.

Margaery rolled her eyes but didn’t comment on the fib straightaway. “Come here, let me give you a cuddle.” Margaery lulled, pulling on Sansa’s shoulders slightly so that when Margaery lay on her back, Sansa was cuddled up next her, face buried in her neck. “Now, come on,” Margaery started, sweeping the hair from Sansa’s forehead and placing kisses there, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sansa answered again, sniffling. Margaery huffed and was about to push harder when Sansa clarified. “I mean, nothing’s _wrong_. I just had a…a bit of a moment, that’s all.” Margaery let her be this time, knowing that once she’d started she would keep going. “I wish I could have done this for us.” She proclaimed earnestly, eyes closed in an expression of desperate _want_.

“Awww, Sans. I couldn’t do this for us either.” Margaery argued gently, rubbing her shoulders comfortingly.

“I know but…it would have been me, if we could have both done it, wouldn’t it?” Margaery said nothing because Sansa was right. Sansa would have loved to have had this experience while Margaery didn’t have nearly as strong feelings about the process compared to the end result itself. “But there’s no point in moping. We’re lucky that we have someone to do this for us.” The redhead declared resolutely as if reminding herself.

“We are.” Margaery agreed simply.

They stayed as they were for another five minutes or so before Sansa picked herself up, wiping her eyes firmly with a stroke of finality to the action as though convincing herself that those were the last tears she would shed on the matter. “I’m dying for a cuppa’. Come on.” She said, pulling Margaery by the hand along behind her.

Arya was sat casually on the sofa, petting both dogs distractedly whilst watching the news.

“Cuppa?” Sansa asked, kissing Margaery’s hand before letting it go and breaking off towards the kitchen.

“Yes please.” Margaery smiled reassuringly.

“Yup.” Arya responded without looking up.

“You should take a picture of that.” Sansa smiled, nodding at Arya’s belly before going to put the kettle on.

After her sister had left the room, Arya silently asked Margaery if all was well by giving a questioning ‘thumbs up’ which Margaery replied to with a smile and a wink. Margaery took her wife’s suggestion and got her phone out and snapped a picture with the camera, intending to send it to everyone down in Highgarden, thinking that it would be a nice way to keep them all in the loop despite the distance. Arya could only take pictures straight-faced and unsmiling or wearing a stupid expression; on this occasion she went with a snarling face, eyes closed whilst holding her shirt up and sat on the sofa as though the babes were trying to rip their way out of her through her stomach.

Margaery was still giggling when Sansa came into the living room with three steaming, cups of tea, sitting next to her sister on the sofa. Sansa studied Arya’s stomach closely before smiling and turning to Margaery. “That really is great you know. I’m impressed.”

Margaery let her face morph into a small smile, trying to look modest but pleased with the compliment. “I try. It is my job after all.”

“I meant that you managed to keep this one still long enough for you to finish.” Sansa joked, sending a teasing smile towards Arya while taking the first sip of her beverage.

“Ho ho!” Arya fake-laughed, holding her ribs mockingly.

Sansa smiled wider, putting her cup down and petting Lady for a second before leaning down so that she was eye level with Arya’s belly. “Hello, Babies. Mam’s home.” Sansa smoothed her hand over the tight flesh softly before leaning down and pressing a smacking kiss to each of the drawn-on foetus’.

Arya smiled at Margaery over her sister’s head, the younger girl’s hand coming up to idly to stroke her sister’s hair like she’d just been doing to her pet.

“Week Thirteen.” Sansa announced excitedly. “Do you know, right now the babes are peach-sized? At least they would be, if there were just one of them; I can’t find a size comparison for twins. I’ll go with it though. Teeth and vocal cords are starting to form. I bet they’ll sound really cute. Maybe they’ll be able to sing! They can do little duets!” Sansa continued going off on her excited tangent while Margaery and her good-sister just looked on fondly, smiling and nodding encouragingly whenever it looked like she wanted a reply.

*~*~*

 _'Bloody hell!'_ Rickon swore internally, extremities now so cold that they began to feel like they were burning. _'That can't be good.'_ He thought to himself, attempting to dig his fingers deeper in to his armpits so that he might find some relief. _'How the fuck can Jon live here?'_ He queried to himself in utter disbelief.

"Rickon?!" A voice called over the howling of the wind and Rickon looked over to see someone waving to him, who could only be Samwell Tarly based on the man's girth. _'No offence, Mate.'_ Rickon apologised internally to the bloke. “Follow me! We'll get you out of the cold while you wait for Jon.” He gestured for Rickon to follow him, the sheer number of layers he wore and the weight of the books he was carrying paired with the ice on the ground making him wobble unsteadily as he continued to move along at a brisk pace.

Rickon shuffled along quickly behind him, preferring to keep his hands buried under his arm pits rather than free to stabilise him, even when he slipped several times but luckily managed to catch himself as he trailed after Sam.

He scuttled through the door behind Sam, relieved, as the Southerner slammed the door behind them, a few flurries of snow chasing them into the room as the door closed.

Sam threw a couple of extra logs into the fire immediately before taking off his two topmost layers of wet clothing to dry near the fire. "We still run on log fires in this building I'm afraid. It's not so bad as long as you remember to keep on top of it...I tend to get a bit involved in my reading though and forget." He laughed at himself with a self-deprecating smile. "Cup of tea?" Sam offered politely, his upbringing shining through far brighter than Rickon's own ever did.

"Fuck yeah, mate." Rickon enthused, feeling like he could kiss the bloke.

Sam smiled awkwardly at the enthusiastic outburst, nodding his head while looking down at the floor, clearly still uncomfortable with such language used casually, even after several years in the Black.

Sam made two steaming mugs of tea and brought them to the table where all of his books were laid out, offering Rickon the seat opposite his own. "So, what are you up to now, Rickon? You finished school last year, I believe?"

"Yeah," Rickon started, pulling at his own shaggy, red hair in agitation, hating when this topic would inevitably be broached, "I'm working in a restaurant my sister co-owns with her friend at the minute. Other than that, I'm not really sure what I want to do in the long run or anything." He didn't mind admitting to people that he worked in a Stark-owned business; if dickheads wanted to think that he had a free ride because of it, that's their problem. _‘Arya rides my arse all the fucking time about not fucking around there and to make sure tht I’m more of a help than a hindrance to Hotpie. Sam doesn't seem that type though.'_ Rickon summarised when his only reaction to Rickon's answer was to nod sympathetically.

"I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life other than go to university." Sam answered with a rueful smile and Rickon felt a bit awkward, remembering a vague account from Jon about Sam's father being an arsehole and forcing Sam to take the Black and continue on the Tarly tradition of military service or he would be disowned. _‘What a prick.'_

"I thought you worked with the Maester in the library?" Rickon asked, looking around the room and noting that despite the many reading materials and leaflets scattered around the room, this was most certainly not a library...not that Rickon had been in any enough to recognise one easily.

"Oh yeah, I do normally but I get drafted in for the odd shift in the recruitment sector." San explained, taking a sip of his tea.

"You get many people come up here to ask about joining?" Rocking asked with a small smirk, thinking that anyone who came here to enquire would turn tail and run before they made it half way up the road from Mole Town.

"No, well, they don't really come to the base. The recruitment offices are in the cities but Castle Black, Shadow Tower, Eastwatch and all the other bases generate recruitment material. It's not just land forces either, we generate materials for naval and air forces too; Old Oak, Dragonstone, Pyke, you name it."

"Really?" Rickon asked, surprised. "I kind of thought all you guys were the same?"

"Oh, no. When you get down to it, we're all quite different. Land Stags, Sea Kraken’s, Air Dragons; we’re all military but we’re all as different as the animals each order is named after."

"How?" Rickon asked, not at all convinced. Jon and Dacey always bantered about how different Stag’s and Kraken’s were but he never really thought much about it, lumping them all together in his head under the Forces banner.

"Well, have a look for yourself." Sam answered, passing Rickon a number of leaflets.

Rickon pulled the leaflets towards him dubiously while Sam cracked open one of the ancient times in front of him.

Ten minutes later, Rickon got a text from Jon, telling him that he was downstairs, ready to go. Rickon put his now toasty but still damp jacket back on and bid farewell to Sam. "Cheers Sam." Rickon boomed, reaching over the table to grab forearms with him.

Sam smiled pleasantly in return. "Have a good visit with Jon and Dany."

When Rickon made to walk out the door, he hesitated slightly, turning back to the table, grabbing the leaflets he'd been reading and stuffing them into his pocket as he made his way back out into the blistering cold.

*~*~*

Lady and Nymeria were tangled near the fire, play-fighting over a bone while their mistresses sniped over what to watch on the television when the lights suddenly went out. Sansa turned, about to shout out to Margaery to ask if she could fetch in a new light bulb when she came back when Margaery walked into the room with a large slab of lemon cake which had two candles in it, a big smile on her face. “Happy Second Trimester!” She enthused happily.

“Are you serious?” Arya drawled, unimpressed, looking at her sister’s wife as though she was mad as a Targaryen while said sister looked at her as if she were Florian stepped straight from the page.

“Hush!” Sansa chided, slapping her sister’s thigh. “Love?” Sansa beamed, eyes asking for an explanation.

“It’s Week Fourteen: Lemon! It’s going to be a good week since it’s my lucky lady’s lucky fruit.” Margaery explained as she set the plate down on the coffee table.

“Sound logic.” Arya nodded sarcastically, earning Sansa’s glare yet again.

Margaery smiled placatingly at her wife as she took a seat between the two sister’s before gifting her with a kiss on the cheek. “Reaching the second trimester with no health problems making themselves known is a good sign, Arya.” Margaery explained patiently.

Sansa alternated seamlessly between grinning at Margaery and glaring at Arya while Margaery put a plate down in front of each of them before speaking up on the matter. “You might think it’s stupid, with the cake and the candles and the lucky fruit but…but most problems with a pregnancy arise in the first trimester so I feel like we’re kind of over the first hurdle. We’ll need to see the ultrasound and I want to speak to Maester Coleman myself before I feel _completely_ relaxed but it’s something.” Sansa enthused earnestly, making Arya feel slightly guilty for mocking.

“Exactly.” Margaery smiled in agreement, squeezing Sansa’s thigh gently.

Arya sighed and rolled her eyes but seemed to accept her sister’s exuberance and good-sister’s gesture. “Fine.” She whined with a shake of the head. “But I think you need to acknowledge that the days of ‘completely relaxed’ are gone forever, especially for you.” Arya stated with a nod of her towards her sister.

Sansa nodded her happy acqiesence of the fact. “Well, come on then. Blow them out.” Sansa enthused, leaning back and gripping Margaery’s hand on her lap.

“It’s alright.” Arya shrugged off. “There’s two candles and two of you. I’ll take a candle at the next trimester.” Arya announced confidentally, watching with a hidden smile smile as the two of them leant forward and blew the candles out.

*~*~*

Week Fifteen rolled around and Sansa continued to mark the passage of time exclusively in terms of Arya’s pregnancy. Sansa had continued to call Maester Colemon’s clinic daily looking for a cancelled appointment and her persistence meant that Arya, Sansa and Margaery were sitting in the clinic again, a week earlier than what Maester Colemon’s secretary had originally booked for their second scan.

Sansa was smiling widely and just as nervous as any other time she had sat in that waiting room, eager to see her babes live on the screen and have an actual professional point out which potato was head and which was body.

They were called in and Sansa stood with Margaery, bouncing on her heels slightly as Arya lifted her shirt and jumped as the cold gel was squirted onto her belly. Sansa and Margaery were stood at the head of the bed by Arya, the screen facing away from them next to Colemon’s stool where he sat by Arya’s midriff. Colemon fiddled with the transducer to get the wire out of the way before pressing it to Arya’s stomach, swivelling it around to different angles and studying the screen facing towards him intently. After a moment, Colemon pushed the glasses on his nose up higher and squinted towards to the screen, pulling it closer to him; the look on his face made Sansa’s breath catch in her throat.

“It looks like I was mistaken when I said you were having twins.” He said evenly, pressing down on the buttons under the screen. Sansa had never felt the sensation of nausea attack her so quickly before, feeling like her head would spin right off of her neck. She felt Arya look at her worriedly and Margaery squeeze her hand almost painfully tight.

“Did we…did we lose one?” Margaery asked, voice small and weak.

“No…” Colemon trailed off, focus still drawn to the screen and rotating the transducer, “…found one.”

Sansa stuttered out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding, not certain of what he was saying. “What…what do you mean?” She choked out.

“I don’t know how I missed it last time. The third must have been hiding behind one or both of the other two.” He commented drily, scratching his jaw whilst pondering.

“You mean there’s…it’s…” Arya started, looking as shocked as Sansa and Margaery.

“It’s triplets.” He confirmed sedately, looking to them and away from the screen for the first time.

Margaery shrieked in her ear and Arya whooped from next to her but the only sound Sansa made was a thud as her body hit the floor.

…

“Sansa…Sansa…” Margaery’s voice echoed from above her and Sansa wondered for a second why Margaery was awake before her while she let out a protesting moan at her wife’s intrusion.

“Not so ‘composed’ that time, was she?” Arya’s voice snarked and Sansa realised that they were in fact _not_ in her and Margaery’s bedroom.

Her eyes popped open suddenly before the bright lights and sickening white of the room made her close them again. “Owww.” Sansa let out slowly as she rolled her head to the side and felt the ache on the back of her head. “What happened?”

Margaery kneeled down next to her with a reassuring smile as she helped her to sit up with a supporting arm under her elbow and around her shoulders. “Nothing really, Love, you just…fell down.” She smiled soothingly.

“Fell down?” Arya barked out a laugh next to them, a look of sarcasm mixed with jubilation on her face. “You passed the fuck out and hit the deck.” Arya got out before cracking up with laughter.

Sansa felt her face flame as Margaery glared at Arya, helping Sansa to her feet and into a nearby chair, for which she was grateful as her legs still felt weak.

“Oh, whoa. Three babes. That bit wasn’t a hallucination, was it?” Sansa asked weakly but starting to smile now.

“No.” Margaery answered, a beaming smile on her own face, fingers brushing over Sansa’s cheek and pushing away the hair that had escaped her braid.

“Three. Oh my gods, three! They’re going to outnumber us!” Sansa yelped, eyes going wide with realisation before bringing her thumb to her mouth, biting her nail absentmindedly.

“They can bring it on.” Margaery enthused happily, beaming smile in place before kissing Sansa’s forehead, pulling her hand away from her teeth before she could do herself damage.

When Margaery pulled away, Sansa cupped her face and pulled her back, pressing frantic, happy kisses to her lips, laughing in disbelief. She looked over her wife’s shoulder to smile happily at her sister.

“Mrs Stark-Tyrell, we need to discuss your options.” Maester Colemon stated solemnly, switching the machine off and rolling it back into the corner of the room.

“Options?” Margaery asked, confused, getting up to stand next to Sansa.

“Yes.” The way he said it, so blunt and somber, made Sansa start to feel nauseous all over again. He took a seat on the wheeled stool again before rolling it back over to where Sansa sat and Margaery stood. “Three babes could potentially prove problematic to your sister.” Maester Colemon stated seriously.

“I don’t understand. We wanted babes.” Sansa argued, confused.

Maester Colemon rolled back a few metres, scratching his jaw lightly before trying again, this time addressing Arya too. “You’re young and healthy, Ms. Stark, but your very petite. I’m concerned that the strain of three babes on your body paired with your small frame could put your physical health at risk and that could then potentially impact on the babes themselves.”

“Why has this never been mentioned before now?” Margaery spat. “You were worried before that four embryo’s wouldn’t even get us one babe!” Margaery argued hotly.

The Maester frowned at that, the comment questioning his decision clearly wrankling him. “I still maintain that four was a fairly conservative attempt considering the instability of…”

“Forget that!” Sansa interrupted, not having the patience. “What are you saying?”

“You could absolutely go ahead with this pregnancy as is and we need do nothing different from this point onwards or…” He coughed slightly, clearly uncomfortable despite his professional veneer. “It’s called ‘Selective termination’.” He started, making his voice soft as if approaching a skittish animal. “It’s an injection of potassium chloride to the heart of the foetus; it slows the heart to a stop and then the foetus remains in the womb to be broken down by the body.”

“And you’re suggesting we do that to one of our babes?” Margaery asked, indignant.

“Maybe even two. Three shares of the resources may have already begun to cause strain that we can’t see yet.” He edged carefully. Margaery looked down at Sansa disbelievingly but Sansa couldn’t move enough to return her stare. “But let us be clear, I am not suggesting anything. This is one hundred percent your choice. I am just alerting you to the risks and your options; that is my job.”

“So, your saying that the more babes she’s carrying the more likely there is for…complications?” Sansa asked in a daze.

“I am afraid that that is the risk for all pregnancies, Mrs Stark-Tyrell.” He replied sombrely. “Those are you options but this is not a decision to be rushed so you take your time to think things over and we can discuss your decision at your next appointment.”

Arya had remained silent since her initial teasing and just looked at the other two, clearly not knowing what to say. Sansa couldn’t blame her; she didn’t know what to think.

She left the office with Margaery and Arya in silence. She rode in the car with Margaery and Arya in silence. She entered the house with Margaery and Arya in silence.

Lady and Nymeria approached them as soon as they entered the living room, nosing at their hands agitatedly, sensing that something was off.

Sansa looked to Margaery, giving her a significant look before making her way to the stairs, feeling Margaery following behind her.

“Wait.” Arya called out, speaking for the first time since Maester Coleman had laid out the ‘options’. The younger Stark stood at the bottom of the stairs while the couple stood a few steps above her, the dogs running around her feet agitadely. “This is _your_ decision and yours alone but I just want to ask you one thing.” Arya spoke seriously, eying the two of them carefully. “ _Please_ don’t make any decisions based on what he said about me, okay? I’ll be fine. If you…decide to do something for the other babes then that’s your business but don’t make this sort of decision for my sake. Please?” She announced, nodding at them and waiting for them to do the same.

Sansa nodded though her brain was too fuzzy to really take on what her sister was saying. “Okay, Arya, we will.”

*~*~*

“I don’t understand how that idiot didn’t mention any of these risks to us before now!” Margaery ranted as soon as their bedroom door was closed. “I mean, he saw Arya when we brought her to the transfer! She was the same size as she’d always been so if it was so fucking risky why didn’t he tell us then? And…” Margaery let out an incredulous before taking in a deep breath to continue, “three babes from four embryo’s? Seriously! He said the chances were really low of us getting any success from that number! Conservative my arse!”

Sansa sat down wearily on the bed, looking tired. “The triplets could be from one embryo split into three.” Sansa offered, seeming to be in shock. “I don’t think that’s the part that’s important right now though, is it?” Sansa asked, genuinely looking lost.

Margaery took a calming breath before sitting on the bed next to her wife. “No.” Margaery conceded. “But it made me feel better for a moment to rant about it.” She tried to laugh sardonically but sounded more like a small wail.

They were both silent for several moments, neither knowing where to begin.

“How the hell are we supposed to make a decision like this?” Sansa asked softly, tears falling from her eyes now.

Margaery scooted over, putting an arm over Sansa’s shoulders and pulling her close. “There’s no right or wrong decision, Sweet Girl. Just…hard.” _‘To put it mildly.’_

Silence again.

“I don’t…I don’t think I could abort one of our babes, Marge. Or two. Any of them!” Sansa enthused, shaking her head resolutely, her auburn braid swing back and forth with the momentum of her denial.

“I know. I don’t want to either.” Margaery replied, wiping the tears from Sansa’s cheek with her thumb. “But we need to talk through this properly. So that we know that we’re making the right decision.” Margaery nodded to herself firmly.

A long moment passed. “Okay then.” Sansa agreed, sniffling slightly but straightening her posture. “Let’s talk it out.”

*~*~*

Her sister and Margaery had been in their room for the last few hours since returning from Colemon’s clinic. Arya was getting up to make her fourth cup of that crappy, herbal tea from Lys that Sansa had gotten for her in lieu of the caffeine-heavy alternative, at a loss of what else to do when she heard the footsteps of her sister and good-sister in the upstairs hallway before they descended the stairs.

Arya sat back down and instead continued flipping through the newspaper in her lap but also made sure to look at them so that she could gage whether they wanted to talk or wanted to act as if nothing had happened, using them as her directive in this situation. Margaery was holding Sansa’s hand and pulling her along slightly behind her as Margaery offered Arya a weak smile and sat the both of them on the sofa next to her.

“Hey.” Margaery started casually.

“Hey.” She replied, equally informal as she threw the newspaper aside, waiting pateiently.

Margaery looked to Sansa momentarily before she started speaking. “Arya,” her good sister started, straightening her back and pushing her shoulders back squarely, seemingly determined to push through the reality of their situation, “we can’t pull any punches about this; we need to be realistic. The way Colemon was talking back there…this could kill you, Arya.”

Arya scoffed before she could stop herself and she knew that they thought her too blasé about the possibility by the identical twitch in both of their brows. “You could be killed crossing the street…or choking on a chicken bone or having your parachute fail.” Arya argued calmly. “There are literally a million different ways that we could die every single day; it doesn’t mean we stop living. Besides, death isn’t so bad; we’ll all meet the Stranger in the end, one way or another.” She said airily and she could feel their confounded expressions without even needing to look.

“Still,” Margaery edged, looking at Arya somewhat dubiously, “we know what you said earlier but this isn’t a trivial thing and it _does_ affect you so we thought that we should sit down and discuss…”

“You have been discussing it.” Arya interrupted, knowing that she sounded more impatient than she intended to. “You’ve been discussing it upstairs for nigh on three hours now so let me tell you what I think.” She started, folding her arms stubbornly. “If you had decided to go with the ‘selective termination’ option for one or more of the babes then you wouldn’t have come down here wanting to ‘discuss’ it with me; you would have come down here and told me. From this I can only assume that you have decided against that option so now want to ‘discuss’ it with me due to how it could supposedly affect my health, am I right?” Arya asked, looking to the both of them for an answer.

Margaery fidgeted somewhat uncomfortably but her sister considered her intensely, her eyes red-rimmed and focus on her own. “We couldn’t bear the thought of aborting any one of them, no.” Sansa answered in a dull voice, her eyes looking slightly dead without their usual, happy sparkle.

“Okay then…” Arya started but was quickly interrupted.

“But I couldn’t bear to lose you either.” Sansa choked out, her eyes screaming with the inner conflict that could not be conveyed by her voice alone.

Arya took a deep breath as she considered her sister. In that moment, Arya didn’t care how soppy or over-emotional it made her look, she scooted over on the sofa, closer to her sister, and looped her arm over her shoulders, meeting her gaze squarely. “You won’t.” Arya replied simply but her voice boomed with her trademark stubbornness.

“But you don’t know that, Ar!” Sansa argues back, her voice near hysterical and tears started to seep from her eyes again before she threw herself into her sister’s arms, letting out a sob.

Arya looked over her sister’s head at her wife who seemed to be fighting some inner turmoil of her own as she stroked a comforting hand up and down Sansa’s back soothingly. Arya traced the shape of Sansa’s now messy braid for a moment, feeling her own eyes sting before taking a steadying breath and retorting. “We don’t _know_ anything, Sans. Not really. Sometimes you just need to know your gut instinct and go with it.” Arya argued, knowing that her sister would find the concept of not being in control hard to swallow. Sansa sniffled again and rubbed her head against Arya’s chest and Arya wasn’t certain if the action was Sansa disagreeing with her statement, Sansa burrowing deeper into her embrace or Sansa wiping her nose in Arya’s jumper. _‘Probably a combination of the three.’_ Arya thought to herself while she brought her free hand up to stroke slowly down Sansa’s arm as she smirked into her hair. “That approach has certainly never gotten _me_ into trouble before.” Arya said evenly into Sansa’s hair, knowing that her sister would instantly take the bait.

Sansa choked out a laugh though Arya could still hear the tightness in her throat. “That’s all it does is get you into trouble!” She argued with a sniffle, squeezing Arya tighter.

“Well, it’s gotten me this far.” Arya announced easily before placing a kiss on her sister’s forehead where it met her hairline. Sansa looked up at her, big, blue eyes glassy and heartbreakingly sad and conflicted. Arya wiped a thumb over her cheek to banish the tears. “So, you’re not going to worry about me anymore, yeah?” Arya urged with a smile at her sister before looking at Margaery on her left. “Because you have three babes to fret over now; you can’t be wasting an ounce of it on little, old me.”

“Indeed, we do.” Margaery agreed calmly, expression going somewhat vacant as the reality of it now sunk in yet, thankfully, not nearly as ‘comatose-y’ as last time.

“Yeah!” Sansa agreed, sitting up and wiping her eyes harshly and in a way that made her look incredibly young. “Three. Whoa!” She choked out, breath still short from her sobs. “I can’t believe it.”

“ _You_ can’t believe it?” Arya asked with mock dubiousness, feeling that the tension had been significantly cut so that now she could completely demolish it with humour. “I now have to shoot _three_ babes out of my ‘pleasure palace’ and I have to do it sober! I was hoping for a little bit of a breather after birthing the second, to be honest! Like, the rest of my life, maybe? I have been mis-sold this deal. You asked for one; you’re so fucking greedy, the both of you.” Arya declared dramatically with a wave of her hand for flare.

Margaery rolled her eyes while Sansa giggled and pulled Arya in close, practically pulling Arya into her lap. “We’re having triplets!” The redhead yelled to the room.

“We’re having triplets!” Margaery repeated, putting her arms around the both of them and kissing the back of Sansa’s head.

“We’re having triplets!” Arya mocked and repeated in a high pitched voice from where she was being squished by the hold of four arms though she knew it did nothing to diminish either of the other women’s enthusiasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might not be a popular decision (re: triplets) but the plan has always been for a trio pregnancy! And entirely commonplace with IVF, especially when talking about the number of embryo's discussed. I know the Phoebe resonance is likely going to be even stronger now but I'll just have to accept that!
> 
> Obviously, things got a little somber at the end due to discussed content but I hope you are all still enjoying?
> 
> Much Love!
> 
> *WC68*


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I'm going to be posting my forfeit after this though it won't be from this universe this time around.
> 
> *WC68*

“So, how should we tell them this time?” Margaery asked, stroking her hand over Sansa’s shins that were thrown across her lap.

“We are starting to run out of ways.” Arya agreed from what was now deigned to be ‘her side’ of the sofa, scratching Nymeria’s chest, the great beast standing on her hind legs with her front paws resting on Arya’s knees, her large head thrown back, eyes closed and letting out a purr-like growl at the attention.

“Well, you told _South_ that we had Psycho Surrogate,” Margaery paused to smirk and wink at said Psycho Surrogate, “and I told them when we found out that we were pregnant and then about the twins so you can take a crack at the Tyrell’s this time.” Margaery smiled graciously towards her wife.

Sansa considered it for a brief momen before smiling and nodding. “And fair is fair, I told _North_ when we had Psycho Surrogate, they found out that we were pregnant on their own and Arya told them about the twins so it’s your turn to tackle the Starks.” Sansa challenged with a raised brow.

Margaery brought a hand to her chin and scratched it thoughtfully. “Okay, I’ll need time to ponder this one. Get it _just_ right.” She smirked, considering all of the possibilities.

“By the way guys, I’m not overly crazy on the name ‘Psycho Surrogate’.” Arya put in with an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“What would you prefer, Sweet Sister?” Sansa teased, looking at Arya over the top of her spectacles.

Arya looked off to the side for several seconds, face clearly considering as her hands came to rest motionless in Nymeria’s fur, making the large beast butt at her head impatiently with her own. “Aunty Awesome.” Arya replied before diving at her companion, tackling the dog to the floor and ruffling her fur roughly.

*~*~*

Rickon let the door close loudly behind him and let out a deep breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding for the last twenty minutes or so while he’d been inside.

He was running a hand through his shaggy, auburn hair, considering what to do next when his phone started to ring.

He struggled to get it out and smiled instantly when he was it was Shireen. “Hey. What’s up?” He breathed in to the phone, leaning back against the wall behind him.

“Hey. Nothing much. Just having a study break and wanted to chat. What you up to?” She asked casually and he could guess from the background noise that she was probably making herself a coffee that was probably at least her fourth of the day by now.

“Well…” He trailed off, pondering whether he should tell her or not. They had discussed it in length and though she had been supportive, her voice had been tight with her obvious agitation at the possibility. “I did it.” He uttered quietly, not quite believing it himself yet.

“You did?” She asked, catching onto his meaning instantly.

“Yeah, I just left the recruitment centre now.” He elaborated, burying his hand in his pocket and bobbing up and down slightly on the balls of his feet to syphon off some of the adrenaline still coursing through his body.

“Oh, wow. Okay. Wow.” She rambled adorably down the phone and he huffed out a small laugh. “That’s…are you happy?” She asked cautiously, voice clear, all background noise from her end now silenced.

“Yeah.” He smiled, nodding with the truth of the answer. “It feels…I think it’s the right thing.” He continued to nod, happy to finally have something ahead of him.

“Then I’m happy for you. It’ll be tough but then so are you.” She laughed and it wasn’t quite her normal, carefree laugh but he knew she meant it all the same. “Have you thought about how you’re going to tell your Mother?”

_‘Hoh, shitballs!’_ Rickon thought, eyes going wide, suddenly not feeling so tough anymore.

*~*~*

Unfortunately, there were no visits between the Stark-Tyrell’s and the Tyrell’s for a few moons so Sansa had resigned herself that she would need to make the announcement to her good-family via telephone, as her wife had done on many occasions by this time.

She sat on her and Margaery’s bed as the phone rang, knowing that the Tyrell’s were likely still sitting around the table and drinking after dinner coffee. Three rings passed when a member of their Sunday staff picked up the phone.

_“Tyrell residence.”_ Sansa heard Aly’s soft voice down the line and Sansa smiled at the gentle woman whom had been in service at the Tyrell estate since back when Olenna had been the newly appointed Lady Tyrell.

“Hello, Aly. It’s Sansa.” She smiled down the phone and immediately heard the older woman’s professional veneer crack.

_“Hello Lady Sansa! How are you? How’s my little Lady Margaery?”_ The older woman chatted easily.

Sansa couldn’t help but let out a small laugh due to the fact that Aly refused to drop titles, no matter how many years had passed or how close they got. _‘Margaery’s been trying to convince her for near thirty years without any luck.’_ Sansa thought wryly. “We’re both great, Aly.” Sansa answered happily.

_“And the babes?”_ Aly asked eagerly, practically before Sansa had even finished her previous statement.

“Yes, babes are healthy.” Sansa dodged stealthily.

_“Oh good. Good.”_ She spoke absently, clearly working as she spoke. “Everyone’s still sat down to dinner at the moment…” She trailed off awkwardly.

“I know…coffee and mints if my calculations are correct?” Sansa said with a smile.

Aly let out a soft laugh down the phone in response with a noise of agreement following. _“I suppose things **do** run like clockwork down here.”_

“You could say that.” Sansa agreed. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t normally call during dinner but I wanted to catch them all together and I know Leonette’s having a tough time with this babe so didn’t want to risk her, Garlan and Garrett leaving before I called.” Sansa explained her lack of manners quickly in one overly prolonged breath.

_“It’s fine, Sweetling. I will take the phone to Lady Tyrell now.”_ She announced on a small, fond laugh before making the journey from the kitchen to the dining room. _“Lady Sansa, Ma’am.”_ She heard quietly down the phone and a soft rustle before her good–mother’s voice called to her down the line.

_“Sweet Girl. To what do I owe the pleasure?”_ Alerie Tyrell called magnanimously down the line, stealing Margaery’s nickname for her.

“Mum,” Sansa laughed down the phone, “Margaery can’t hear you.”

_“Oh, am I not on speakerphone?”_ Alerie asked, clearly disappointed.

“No, she’s just in the shower.” Sansa answered, rolling her eyes at Alerie and Margaery’s constant banter though grateful for it as it had definitely prepared Margaery for what was to come with _her_ family.

_“Oh, alright then. Tell me when you do put me on loudspeaker so we can have her with that again. How are you anyway, Sweetness?”_ Alerie asked, using her own pet name for Sansa this time.

“I’m good, Mum. I hope I’m not interrupting dinner?” She asked, trying to inject the correct level of curiosity.

_“No, no. We’re having coffees and Garrett’s having his big boy milkshake.”_ She boomed out, clearly for the benefit of said grandchild.

“What’s a ‘big boy milkshake’?” Sansa asked curiously, smiling at Margaery as she stepped out of their en-suite, fully clothed with a fuzzy grey towel wrapped securely around her head.

_“Oh, it’s just a normal milkshake but **not** served in a sippy-cup.”_ Alerie answered, quieter this time.

“I see. Margaery’s out of the shower now, Mum, so I’ll put you on speakerphone and could you do the same on your end, please?” Sansa asked, trying to keep her voice even.

_“Okay.”_ Alerie drew out, sounding suspicious now.

Sansa pulled the phone away from her face to put the speakerphone option on, looking at Margaery significantly but with a wide smile.

_“So,”_ Alerie drawled on her end, echoing oddly now as they were both on speakerphone but still clear, _“how is my Sweet Daughter and my Sweet Girl?”_

As Alerie knew she would, Margaery blew out a huff, rolling her eyes. “Mother, we’ve talked about this.” Margaery whined, sounding annoyed that her mother was stealing her pet name for her wife.

There was a long pause from the other end and Sansa could easily see in her mind’s eye her good-mother trying to compose herself enough to keep her mirth from her voice. _“We did?”_ She asked, sounding confused.

“Oh, Woman! I give up on you!” Margaery stropped though a smirk fought its way onto her face.

_“Oh, Daughter, Mother is just playing with you.”_ Alerie soothed placating, somewhat mocking the fact that Margaery would only call her ‘Mother’ when reprimanding her. _“Now, come on. Speakerphone conversation at dinner must have been requested for a specific reason. Don’t keep us in suspense.”_ Alerie pushed, like always, not appreciating the unknown.

“Your Mum’s too bloody sharp!” Sansa whispered softly to her wife whilst covering the receiver before squaring her shoulders and preparing herself for the announcement. “Well, yeah, we do have some news.” She answered the non-question, buying herself a few more precious seconds to compose herself. “Well, it turns out that…we’re not having twins, we’re having triplets!” Sansa announced happily down the phone.

She instantly recognised the high squeals on the other end of the phone as Alerie, Leonette and Mace. _“Three?! Mace, three!”_ Alerie shouted as though Margaery’s Father wasn’t sat right next to her, squeeing louder than the rest of them.

General affirmations of disbelief and congratulations were given, buzzing down the phone line in a frenzy.

_“Can you believe it? This time next year there’ll be four more little Tyrell’s running around. Four!”_ Alerie shouted happily.

“I feel like Sansa and I are carrying most of the weight for this figure. Come on lads. Team effort!” Margaery called down the phone to her brothers.

_“Triplets. Whoa!”_ Leonette sounded dumbstruck. _“Arya deserves a medal!”_ She enthused, respect clear in her tone.

_“We did our part too.”_ Loras argued and Sansa could imagine the smarmy look on his face, identical to his near identical sister’s.

_“Yes Loras, **that** was the hard part.” _ Leonette rebuked drily.

_“What do the Starks think, Sansa?”_ Willas asked happily.

“Actually, we’ve not told them yet; we thought the Tyrell’s deserved this news first as you guys have come second a couple of times.” Sansa answered with a smile. “We’re going to my parents now and Margaery will tell them then. We traded for this one.” Sansa explained before being asked.

_“I suppose at this point, you need to do something different to break up all the announcements.”_ Renly laughed.

*~*~*

Margaery had decided to do a show-not-tell for her Stark announcement, adapting and progressing her earlier belly canvas idea to include a third foetus, popping up behind the other two, little arms resting on its sibling’s little shoulders.

Catelyn had screamed when Arya had lifted her shirt slightly to reveal it; it had taken the men a bit longer to puzzle it out.

*~*~*

"We're not buying that." Sansa stated seriously, looking at the product in her sister’s hand as if it were a firework, clearly considering all the unhealthy E-numbers and whatever else the confectionary was surely crammed with.

"Oh come on! They're _so_ good! I practically lived on them while I was in Essos." Arya argued, picking up the packet and holding it close to her chest.

"That convinces me of nothing." Sansa stated, looking completely unmoved. "I've seen some of the crap you eat and deem it edible fare. When it's just you, it's your business but when you have my little trio residing inside of you, you shall not be partaking." Sansa stated firmly before pushing the cart away.

Arya huffed petulantly, throwing her hands up in the air slightly before stomping back the way she came.

Margaery watched the two sisters walk off in separate directions before following Arya, to see if she was okay, knowing that her teacher-wife scolded by default when instead she should maybe try talking. _'Older siblings never seem to be able to stop seeing their younger siblings as kids.'_ Margaery thought to herself, thinking it true of Sansa and Robb as much as it was true of Willas and Garlan.

She followed behind Arya slightly and saw that she was making her way to the tills, packet still held stubbornly in hand, clearly having the intention of buying it in protest of Sansa's edict when a hulking figure stood from where he'd been crouched on the floor and spun into Arya before seeing her.

Arya let out a squawk and was clearly about to start a loud rant when she seemed to register, at the same time as Margaery, who exactly had bumped into her. "Gendry." She heard Arya exhale softly.

Gendry appeared as shocked as Arya was and Margaery felt before he looked down at Arya properly. Margaery noted some strange expression crash across his face before he dropped his basket, the plastic crashing loudly to the floor as it made contact and upturning, emptying its contents, before he stormed away.

"Wait! Gendry! I can explain! Just let me..." She tried, her voice more pleading than Margaery had ever heard from her good-sister before. Gendry continued his long, forceful strides away from Arya and out of the door, which Arya had no chance of matching with her bloated belly.

Margaery closed the distance between her and Arya quickly, seeing that her good-sister’s face was crumpled slightly. "Ar?" She asked as she wrapped a protective arm around the younger girl.

"He left!" She nearly shouted, clearly in shock at both by what had happened and how quickly it was over. "Why would he...why didn't he just stop and listen?" She sobbed and seemed to be struggling to catch her breath, bending forward slightly to brace herself on her knees.

Margaery was starting to worry, looking around helplessly for some idea of what she should do when, thankfully, Sansa came around the corner three aisles down and spotted them immediately, abandoning the trolley and running to them. "What happened? What happened? What's wrong?" The redhead asked, tone and eyes panicked.

"She-" Margaery started before being interrupted by Arya, standing tall once again.

"I want to leave." Arya announced.

"What-" Sansa started but was also interrupted.

"I want to leave now." Arya said again, walking quickly away from them and out of the front doors that Gendry had also vacated through.

Sansa looked to Margaery with concern but ran back to the trolley to get her handbag from it before returning to her and grabbing her hand to follow quickly after Arya.

They kept Arya's brunette head in sight as she determinedly crossed the car park towards the parked car ahead of them. Sansa opened the car with the fob and Arya got in immediately, seatbelt already on when Sansa and Margaery got in.

"So, what was all that-" Sansa started to query before being interrupted.

"Can we go?" Arya asked, her voice flat.

"Are you okay, though? Do we need to go a hospital?" Sansa asked, confusion and worry rife in her tone.

"No! Can we just go?!" Arya snapped, fingers rubbing her temples, clearly seconds from losing her composure and patience completely.

"But-"

"Sansa," Margaery interrupted this time, her voice firm, "leave it, please. She's fine. Let's go home." Margaery stated, knowing that there was a clear lie in what she said but hoping that her wife would trust her all the same.

When they finally made it back to the house after a tense journey home, Arya still wasn't in the mood to talk and Sansa still was none the wiser as to why.

"Arya?" Sansa pressed cautiously.

"Just leave me alone…please." Arya got out, sounding defeated as she went up the stairs as fast as she could manage, Nymeria shuffling urgently behind her.

"Well?" Sansa turned to Margaery as soon as her sister was out of earshot, expression expectant.

Margaery was tired herself from the tension of the car ride home and opted to take her jacket off first and collapse onto the sofa, Lady nosing her hand in concern immediately.

"Margaery?!" Sansa called out, patience spent.

"Gendry!" Margaery shouted back. "Alright? Gendry was there." Margaery stated, rubbing the bridge of her nose absently, not able to get the look on her friend’s face out of her head. _'He looked totally devastated.'_ Margaery thought to herself sadly.

"Well, what did he do?!" Sansa asked accusingly.

Margaery's brow creased in annoyance at her wife's callousness and how quick she was to blame Gendry when she didn't have a clue about the circumstances. "He didn't _do_ anything, Sansa!" Margaery defended vehemently. "He was just in shock, seeing the love of his life with a very pregnant belly! Surely, even _you_ can't blame him for that?!" Margaery challenged haughtily.

Sansa went a little red at that, her fingers gone from wringing each other to clicking the joints and Margaery knew that she was aggravated. Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and trying again. “What happened then?” She asked in a tone that was tight.

“They saw each other, he saw her stomach, that she was _clearly_ pregnant and ran out the store. Arya tried to explain but he was gone.” Margaery summarised simply.

Sansa looked at her dubiously, clearly thinking that she was holding something back. “That’s all?”

“That’s all?!” Margaery repeated, slightly gobsmacked.

“Yeah. I don’t understand why that would get her so upset. Arya doesn’t get upset like that. Maybe it was more the hormones?” Sansa summarised, sitting next to Margaery on the sofa, running Lady’s tail through her fingers.

“The hormones probably had something to do with it.” Margaery conceded, trying to keep her calm. _‘Why do we only ever argue over them?’_ Margaery questioned herself, sadly. Margaery turned on the sofa to face Sansa more squarely. “Sansa, I know you weren’t…disappointed when Arya and Gendry broke up,” Margaery started, knowing it to be a severe understatement, “but do you really not see how much your sister cares for Gendry? Even now?”

Sansa rolled her eyes slightly but her jaw was tight so she was obviously conceding the first of Margaery’s point in her head. “She couldn’t have cared about him too much. She did sleep with someone else. She found someone better…”

“Found someone better that she didn’t even become involved with afterwards? Does that not seem odd to you? How much she cared about Gendry to just throw it all away over someone that we never even heard of again. Does that sound like her to you?” Margaery asked, finally verbalising the fact that had niggled at her for years.

“She had a lapse; it happens to lots of people.” Sansa replied unconcerned, turning her face away. Even before they had gotten together, Margaery knew that Sansa had an impassioned hatred for infidelity so the fact that she was noe suddenly referring to it as a ‘lapse’ was a complete joke as far as Margaery was concerned and hypocritical to boot.

“And you think that made her stop caring about him?” Margaery asked, dropping the disbelief of the scenario and choosing to follow Sansa’s thinking whilst genuinely confused at how her wife could be such a different person when it came to Gendry. When Sansa didn’t answer, Margaery pushed, not willing to let it drop. “Look, I want you to take out whatever prejudices you have against Gendry, forget that it’s Gendry we’re talking about even; with how in love with him your sister is…” Sansa’s eyes snapped to hers at that, “…was…whatever…are you really surprised that she’d be upset that she’s run into him and he mistakenly thinks that she has just completely moved on and gotten over everything between them?”

“Fine.” Sansa conceded, cheeks red. “She cares about him. It doesn’t matter though. They’re not together anymore, he lives hundreds of miles away and she _is_ over him.”

A tense silence followed and Margaery was at a loss of what else to say so made to walk up the stairs. When she was a couple of steps up, she turned and considered her wife, rigid posture and all. “I think you’re a little blind to the fact that your sister is still in pain over Gendry because you…you were some of the cause of that. You and Robb and your parents never made it easy for them.” Margaery stated sadly, no accusation in her voice.

Sansa spun around at that, eyes livid. “My sister’s relationship with the mechanic ended because she cheated on him, _not_ because of anything that _I_ did or _any_ of my family.” Sansa argued hotly, tone defensive.

Margaery just stared at her, letting her eyes say what her mouth couldn’t. _‘Liar.’_

*~*~*

Nymeria was resting her head on Arya’s belly, whining softly while Arya petted her absentmindedly from where she was stretched out on her bed when there was a knock on the door.

“I’m fine, Sansa!” Arya called out, her brow creasing.

“It’s not Sansa.” Margaery’s voice floated through the door, slightly muted. Arya debated for a moment before standing and walking to the door. “Hey.” Margaery started, standing awkwardly at the door. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” Arya answered stiffly.

“Oh, okay then.” Margaery nodded but made no move to go. Arya looked at her expectantly. “You know, I have Gendry’s number. I could call him right now and explain…”

“No.” Arya interrupted. “No, thank you. It’s…it’s probably for the best anyway.”

“Are you sure? Because I could…” Margaery implored.

“No. Thank-you but…just leave him be.” Arya implored, an echo of finality to her voice.

*~*~*

“Rickon!” Dany beamed when she opened the door. “We weren’t expecting you…were we? Did Jon forget to tell me? Jon!” Dany spoke quickly, pulling Rickon into her usual constricting hug that was always impressive considering her small frame.

“No, no, I-” He started before being interrupted by his brother.

“What?” Jon’s voice called out curiously before he appeared behind Dany. “Rick. Close the door, Mate. It’s freezing.” He requested quickly, patting his younger brother’s arm in welcome once they were separated from the cold by the thick and heavy door. “What are you doing here, Little Brother?” Jon asked curiously, his grey eyes assessing him closely.

“Just…came to chat.” Rickon attempted to shrug off casually, seemingly failing based upon Jon and Dany sharing a quick, significant look between themselves. _‘Eurgh! Married people.’_ Rickon rolled his eyes internally.

Dany smiled wider and began to take off Rickon’s coat. “Well, you must be freezing.” She announced, hanging up the damp garment over the radiator before looping her arm through his and pulling him further into their small house. “I’ll make you a cuppa’.” She stated enthuthiastically and Rickon smiled wide at how bizarre that always sounded in her accent.

Dany sat them both down imperiously on the sofa before going to make them tea and Rickon and Jon traded some small talk until there were two steaming mugs in front of them. “Well, I’ve got to…do something. I’ll be back in a bit.” Dany lied awkwardly, eyes looking a little sad before she left.

Rickon felt bad as he watched her leave the room, knowing that Dany didn’t have many people to speak to up at Castle Black Barracks and with no job, her days were mostly spent waiting for Jon to come home. Her eyes were crying out for company and Rickon made a mental note to stay for a while after he had spoken to Jon. Jon looked in concern after her as she left and when their eyes met, Rickon knew that his big brother was going to insist on that exact same thing.

“So, come on, Rick. It’s a hell of a drive up here in these conditions, especially unannounced. What’s wrong?” Jon asked in concern, face somber and serious.

"So, yeah, I have something to tell you." Rickon started awkwardly, rubbing his now sweaty palms along his jean-clad thighs. Jon's face remained stoic, patiently waiting and looking so much like their dad, sans glasses, that it damn near gave Rickon chills. "I'm joining the Dragons." Rickon announced more confidentially than he felt.

Jon's veneer cracked and his silver eyes went wide with surprise. "The Dragons? As in, The Air Force?" He asked with slight confusion. Rickon nodded with a look on his face that clearly declared 'no shit'. "Okay." Jon replied, nodding his head slowly as he considered the announcement. "I...I didn't know you were considering that sort of career pathway at all."

"Yeah, well, I've been reading up on it and...I think it would be a good fit." He declared, posture becoming rigid, waiting for Jon to try to deter him.

"Okay, well...fair enough." Jon nodded with a small smile. "If you would consider humoring your big brother, I would recommend giving it a few months to let in sink in before you move forward." Jon announced, trying to catch Rickon's eye who suddenly came over a bit sheepish. "You've already signed up, haven't you?" Jon asked evenly.

Rickon nodded.

"Ahhhhh, Rick." Jon droned in concern. "This sort of life isn't easy." Jon warned seriously.

"What? You don't think I can hack it?" Rickon snapped, hands curling into fists at the implication.

"That is neither what I said nor what I think." Jon replied calmly, sounding more like their father than ever. "I just worry that it's going to be a really big adjustment for you. There's so few bases for the Dragons up North so you're probably going to end up being based down South; leaving Mother's and Dad's and the North in one go is a lot of sudden change. It's very regimented and you don't like being told what to do. Your temper could well get you into trouble too." Jon warned, tone heavy with worry.

“I get what you’re saying, okay. It’s just…it really feels like a fit. More than anything else I’ve read about, done or looked into. And I’m not a total idiot; I’ve been researching it all and everything and I’m not put off by how far away it is or how hard it’ll be. I need some sort of…purpose in my life and I think this will give it to me.” Rickon spoke slowly, meeting his brother’s eyes to make sure that Jon understood how serious he was about this.

Jon stared him out for a moment with that intense stare that he and Bran shared before he nodded and his grim face was warped by a small, crooked grin. “Okay then.” He announced before grabbing Rickon’s forearm under the elbow and squeazing it tightly. “I’m proud of you, Brother.” Jon praised, face sincere.

Rickon actually felt himself start to blush at hearing those words of praise from the older brother he resepected so much. “Thanks.” He choked out, returning his smile with a small, wry one of his own. A quiet, contemplative moment passed before Rickon spoke again. “So, any ideas of how to tell Mother?”

“Oh.” Jon started, looking away and genuinely fearfull. “Oh dear.”

“How did yours go? When you told her _you_ were going?” Rickon asked, thinking back but not recalling ever having heard the story before.

“Well…I mean…she was upset. Dad knew it was something I’d wanted to do for years so he supported me and Uncle Benjen was there and did most of the talking after I said my bit.” Jon answered, scratching his jaw and eyes turning slightly sad at thinking back on the uncle he had respected so much who had gone missing in action quite soon after Jon himself had enlisted.

“I imagine that was a sight to see?” Rickon asked with a chuckle, remembering that Uncle Benjen never used to back down from their Mother which frustrated her to no end but also endeared him to her each time they went at it.

“Ho, yes!” Jon replied and actually laughed, face cracking into one of his rare grins.

“Do you think…you could help me out when the time comes to tell her?” Rickon asked, genuinely worried that his brother might say no. _‘ **I’d** say no to him. Mother’s terrifying.’_ Rickon thought to himself seriously.

Jon took longer than Rickon was hoping he would to answer but it was worth the wait when his brother’s, now slightly paler face, gave a small reassuring smile and a nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was slightly shorter than originally intended as I had a bit of an edit, put some new stuff in to move up the timeline of Rickon's storyline so the flow felt like this was the natural place to end it after the new material was put in.
> 
> What are we thinking? How are we feeling? =D
> 
> Also, I am now officially calling 'First Friday of the Month' postings from now on! I'm sorry but my head start has been thoroughly depleted.
> 
> *WC68*


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All. Once-a-month-posting feels weird...entirely necessary I'm afraid but weird.
> 
> Hope this was worth the wait! ;D
> 
> *WC68*

Margaery was torn; she was torn between not meddling as her good-sister had requested and rectifying a simple misunderstanding that she felt was putting people that she cared about through unnecessary pain. She and Sansa had made a tenuous truce, going back to the agreement that they had made years ago to point blank not discuss Arya and Gendry as it had only ever led to them arguing; because of this ceasefire, she didn’t have her usual soundingboard for when she was torn…which was Sansa, annoyingly enough.

Margaery had text Gendry once soon after the chance meeting at the supermarket, just to casually check on how he was doing but his equally casual reply led her to believe that he hadn’t even registered her presence in the store. Gendry had confirmed to her, however, that he indeed had returned North for an internship primarily based out of Winterfell.

Margaery eventually caved and went to see Gendry in his new place. She carried the set of massive, fuzzy towels that was to serve as her housewarming gift under her arm awkwardly as she knocked on the door.

She heard some loud fumbling on the other side of the door before it flew open and Gendry’s wide, welcoming smile greeted her. “Hey!” He said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek and give her a bear hug.

“Hey yourself.” She choked out slightly before he released her back to the ground.

“Are those for me?” He asked, looking at the towels in slight confusion.

“Yes. You didn’t expect me to come empty handed, did you? I am an interior designer…by day.” She joked, bracing her fists on her hips in the classic superhero pose.

“Oh, yes. I forget sometimes. What with how untrendy you are.” He laughed as she punched him in the arm for his sarcasm though she was certain it felt no firmer than a summer breeze on his hulking bicep.

She handed him the towels and he rubbed his face on them immediately, moaning slightly. “Ah, soft.” He mumbled, nuzzling them a bit.

“You two want to get a room?” Margaery asked as she walked past him into his fairly sparse flat.

“I have a couple to choose from, thanks.” He answered with a cheeky grin.

A few moments later and they had chit-chatted through him making them both a cup of tea before sitting down on his boringly, bland sofa. _‘I think I’m going to offer my services.’_ Margaery thought, casting an unimpressed glance over the open plan, studio flat. _‘The man’s chairs don’t even match the table…or each other.’_ She thought dismally, looking at his eating area.

“So, what’s new?” He asked with an open smile, happily ignoring her unimpressed appraisal of his new home.

“Look, I’m not going to bullshit you,” She started, speaking firmly and noticing Gendry’s back get up instantly, “I was there at the supermarket with Arya the other day.” She announced and watched his face fall, the façade of his cheer demolished and Margaery was adamant that she had made the right choice in coming here to speak with him. “I feel like I need to explain.”

“No, you don’t need to explain anything. Arya’s moved on. I already knew she had. I’m…glad for her. Really.” He started, giving Margaery a queasy smile. “As long as she’s happy.” He stated, looking down at his socks and Margaery couldn’t take any more.

“Gendry, it’s not her baby.” Margaery pressed forward quickly.

He looked up for a moment, completely bemused. “What?”

“Well, babies, I should say. Their ours, all three; Sansa’s and mine.” Margaery clarified though Gendry looked no more enlightened. “She’s surrogating for us, Gendry.” Margaery explained bluntly.

“Oh. Oh! Wow, okay. Okay, wow.” He started blabbering, in shock. “Oh, congratulations!” He came back to himself, standing up to give her another bear hug. He held her for a long moment, silently, his large shoulders shaking oddly before he could speak again. “Oh whoa, I really wasn’t ready for her to be _that_ over me.” He choked out, letting out a weak chuckle afterwards.

She squeezed him tightly before letting go so that she could look him in the eye when she spoke her next words. “Oh, Gendry. Then, why aren’t you together?” She asked desperately.

He shrugged her off slightly at that, shaking his coal black hair out of his face, agitatedly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does!” She implored, looking at him pleadingly. “Don’t you think that there’s any chance that you two could…”

“Too much has happened between us.” He stated sadly, looking down at his feet. “Besides, nothing’s changed. I do realise I said _“Too much has happened”_ and _“Nothing’s changed”_ right next to each other in a sentence but they’re both true!” He smiled openly at her and it made Margaery’s heart melt slightly at the effort it appeared to take him. “Our biggest hurdle was always her family and I’m not received any better there now than two years ago. Jon’s party should have made that clear to you.” He offered with a raised eyebrow and Margaery had to look away.

“But aren’t you and Robb doing better now?” Margaery asked, frantic to get through to him.

“That’s tenuous.” Gendry answered darkly, slumping back down onto the sofa. “And for Myrcella. It would go back to hell if I went sniffing around his sister again.” 

“Look.” She started, sitting next to him, not sure if she should broach this with him. It wasn’t information she had garnered off of him after all so he had no reason to believe she knew about it. “They’re not actually that judgemental of you anymore.”

Gendry let out a disbelieving guffaw at that. “Rhollor be praised!” He cheered sarcastically, throwing his hands up in the air.

Margaery ignored him, pressing forward with her point. “I mean, she explained what happened between you so no one judges you.” At that Gendry cocked his eyebrow, a silent request for clarification. “You know,” She nodded at him awkwardly, as if referring to some taboo. “She told them…how she…cheated on you.”

“Cheated on me?” He exclaimed in shock, looking at her as if she were a _White Walker_.

“Well, yeah?” She stated, unsure of herself now, wondering if Arya had lied when she said she’d told him.

“Who told you that?”

“Sansa.”

“Sansa told you Arya cheated on me?”

“Yeah.”

“And who told her that?”

“Arya.”

“Arya?”

“Yes!” Margaery snapped.

“And that I knew about it?”

“Yes. She said that that was why you’d broken up. That she’d cheated on you and told you about it and you couldn’t forgive her.” Margaery explained, confused at his reaction but more certain than ever that that whole nonsense about infidelity was a total fabrication.

“And she just told Sansa this?” Gendry asked, scratching his jaw while his brow scrunched, his expression pained and ponderous, as thought the brain power required was giving him a headache.

“No, she told them all. They kept asking why you weren’t together anymore so she gave in and told them.” Margaery explained.

Gendry stepped his confused thinking face up a gear and was silent for a moment as he considered. “Arya, was she…she was a bit upset after we broke up, was she?”

Margaery thought the words ‘a bit upset’ for what Arya had been when her and Gendry had stopped seeing each other was as much of an understatement as describing The Fist of the First Men as ‘a bit nippy’. “To put it mildly.” She scoffed disbelievingly at him and he got the point.

He brushed off the sarcasm and forwarded on. “Well, I’m guessing the Brother-and-Daddy lynching squad was getting set to come down to Tobho’s and hunt me down?” Margaery rolled her eyes but her cheeks did colour slightly which was all of the confirmation he was going to get. “Do you not think she probably wanted to come up with a scenario that would make them stop threatening my life and let her get on with her own.”

“She could have just said she’d broken up with you. Your life wouldn’t have been threatened by that.” Margaery argued reasonably.

“Would you have believed that?” Margaery took a moment to think about it realised that, no; Arya was so upset, affected and completely in love with Gendry that she would not have believed the decision to part to have been her own. Then again, she would have said the same about Gendry too.

 _‘Someone must have ended things?!’_ Margaery thought, frustrated at the lack of clarity that she was receiving on the matter. “So…why did you break up then?” She asked, attempting to be gentle.

He floundered for a moment. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t just one thing.” He stated, twisting the outside of his watch face distractedly, the clicking echoing loudly in the small room.

“So everything just kind of got on top of you and you…”

“I didn’t break up with her and she didn’t break up with me!” He finally snapped, his eyes flashing hot.

“Okay, okay.” Margaery held her hands up, yielding.

He clenched his fist and held it up to his mouth, trying to block any further words escaping him. “I’m sorry. It’s just…please don’t push me on this. It is what it is. Or, it was what it was; history.”

*~*~*

Jon and Dany had just arrived for a weekend at Winterfell and everyone was excited that the entire Stark clan was back together, the occasions becoming rarer now that Bran had left home. Dany was positively beaming as she was welcomed by everyone and passed from one embrace to the next before kneeling down on the floor to be greeted by the dogs. Shaggydog in particular was enamored with Dany and stayed with her, licking her face and being cuddled long after the others had left.

“I think Ghost is getting jealous.” Rickon joked to Jon, watching his brother’s silent companion watching them from off to the side with a somewhat disgruntled expression.

“Just because Ghost is quiet, doesn’t mean you should take him lightly.” Jon warned solemly.

“Chill out, Mate.” Rickon placated with a smarmy grin to his brother. “Are you ready to do this whenever?” Rickon asked somewhat nervously.

“Eager?” Jon asked evenly, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

“Impatient.” Rickon answered.

“Some things don’t change.” Jon replied wryly. “Yeah, Rick. I am ready to go whenever you are.”

“Cool.” The younger man replied, walking over to his good-sister and his dog. “Hey, Dany.” Rickon called as he took a knee next to Dany before wrapping his large arms around her tiny frame and nuzzling his face into her head much in the same way that his companion was.

“Oi! Get out of it!” Jon barked as he and Ghost sprung towards the trio at the same time, causing Rickon and Shaggydog to flee, Rickon and Dany laughing loud together as Ghost and Jon chased them from the foyer.

*~*~*

“I’ve got something to tell you.” Rickon began with little preamble as soon as their mother took a seat at the table.

“Oh?” Mother asked curiously, casting her eyes down the table towards Ned to ensure that he was listening; he was, pushing his glasses up his nose at the tone of voice his youngest child was using.

Rickon paused, the eyes of all his siblings and their significant others on him as his hands fiddled with the fork infront of him. Jon met his gaze steadily and gave a small, encouraging nod and it was what Rickon needed to get his words out. “I’ve enlisted in the Dragons; I start basic training in half a moons time.” Rickon got out in one breath with no preamble.

Everyone around the table sat with their mouths agape, looking at him as if he’d just announced he was going to become celibate. Mother’s blue eyes went wide, her hand going to her mouth and her posture becoming rigid as she tried not to make a sound. Sansa lifted a hand to rub comfortingly over their Mother’s arm and everyone tensely waited for someone to speak.

“Wow! Rick!” Robb got out through his surprised expression, nodding his head emphatically, his face reassuring even if his words were not particularly.

Everyone’s heads swivelled to look at the matriarch, waiting cautiously for her reaction. Catelyn brought her hand slowly from her mouth to her chest, mouth opening slowly to speak when another noise interrupted her.

Everyone’s heads spun in unison to the source of the noise; wailing sobs coming from Arya, her face crumpled and hands covering her face. If possible, everyone looked even more surprised at Arya’s reaction than Rickon’s announcement.

Rickon could not remember ever having seen Arya cry like this before in his life so had absolutely no inclination of what he should do next, eyes swivelling around the table to see that everyone was equally at a loss. Sansa, Bran and Catelyn gathered around her instantly, soothing and cooing but nothing appeared to calm her.

Jon nodded his head significantly towards Arya, his expression clearly saying, ‘You’ve done this so you fix it’.

Rickon got up slowly, huffing out a breath of uncertainty, not sure what he would do to comfort her other than patting her on the back awkwardly. He walked over to her side of the table, knelt down next to her and put a tentative hand to her shoulder when she suddenly launched herself into his arms, sobbing in earnest now into his hair while her strong, little arms wrapped around his neck tightly.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving! I wish I hadn’t gotten you all fit now!” Arya howled directly into his ear and Rickon felt his neck go wet with her tears.

Rickon laughed at that, booming laughter that shook his sister with every chuckle. “I did have something to do with it you know.” He teased softly.

“No, it was all me!” Arya sobbed lamentfully, squeazing Rickon tighter.

Arya clung to Rickon for a long while and only let go when their father approached them and she transferred her death grip to him. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on Rickon again and he was tempted to pull Arya back to his side to use as a shield.

“Congratulations, Rickon. Jon and I are so proud of you!” Dany announced, squeazing past the other’s to give him a kiss on a cheek before pulling him into a firm hug. He smiled and tried not to blush, thinking it a horribly inappropriate moment to recall the massive crush he’d had on Dany when Jon had first brought her home.

“Yeah, Rick. Wow! That’s amazing. Well done.” Meera enthused next to him, smile wide as she squeazed his arm reassuringly.

“You’re so grown up!” Myrcella teased, laughing as she pinched his cheeks and smiling wider in pleasure when he squirmed with discomfort.

“He’s not _that_ grown up. He still always asks me to pull his finger.” Margaery drawled from the other side of him.

The flock of good-sister comments gave the blood-Starks a chance to compose themselves to come up with some words of their own. Bran was the first one in, hugging him tightly and patting him solidly on the back a few times the way blokes do. “Congratulations.” He announced loudly before adding on a whisper directly into his ear, “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Rick.” Bran gave him a reassuring wink whilst patting his cheek firmly, knowing that Rickon was the most convinced of the validity of Bran’s ‘feelings’.

“I’m so happy for you.” Sansa declared as she stepped up next, wrapping her arms around the both of them and resting her head on Rickon’s chest. “Terrified and proud and a little nauseous but mostly happy.” She rambled on slightly, smiling up at him with her own eyes going a bit glassy now too.

They broke apart when their Dad stepped up, Arya having been deposited to Jon now who looked equally as uncomfortable as Rickon had been. Ned looked at him carefully, meeting his eye and making Rickon want to squirm slightly as he always did when his dad looked this intense. Finally, Ned put out his hand for Rickon to shake, using it to pull Rickon into a firm hug. “Are you sure about this, Son?” Ned asked quietly, assessing Rickon carefully.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m sure.”

“Okay then.” Ned nodded, squeazing his shoulder in approval.

Everyone looked to Catelyn then, the only one left to speak (or be spoken for in Jon’s case). She was stood off to the side with her arms crossed, biting her lip in agitation.

“Mother?” Rickon asked cautiously, face showing his uncertainty.

Catelyn closed her eyes, took a deep breath and simply stepped up to Rickon and held him tightly, not saying a word.

Rickon said nothing either, just brought up his arms to wrap around her shoulders as they shook silently, thinking that it hadn’t gone that bad afterall.

*~*~*

They were flicking through the channels aimlessly when the doorbell went. Sansa looked up from her magazine, not expecting anyone and looking to Margaery to see if she was, getting a casual shrug in response to the non-verbal question.

"I'll get it." Margaery stated, making to get up and shuffle her sketch pad and pencils to the table when Sansa stopped her with a raised hand.

"No, I got it." Sansa offered, picking up Arya's feet from her lap and putting them on the sofa instead, shuffling past Nymeria awkwardly who was spread out rather obnoxiously, taking up nearly all of the space between the sofa and coffee table.

As she made her way from the room, she heard Lady growl slightly. Sansa thought it a strange action from her normally docile companion and saw Margaery ruffle her ears whilst softly chastising her.

She headed to the entryway, a little dubious based on Lady's reaction but knowing that if her companion had sensed danger she would have accompanied her. The heavy, oak door swung upon to reveal one of the last people she ever expected to find on her doorstep.

"You?" Sansa asked in confusion, never having been able to muster up the easy politeness she did with strangers for her sister's ex.

"Always a pleasure, Sansa." Gendry deadpanned, his face in its normal glower. "Is your sister here?" He had barely verbalised the question when Nymeria damn near knocked her over trying to reach him. "Hello Beautiful!" He greeted, his face cracking into a smile that she could grudgingly understand why her sister found it attractive. Nymeria was whining with excitement, jumping up on him eagerly as he petted her heartily. Gendry, rather rudely, ignored Sansa for the next minute while he petted her sister's wolf before he seemed to remember why he was there, looking up Sansa from his crouched position, expression sour again. "So, is she?" He asked, as though he'd been waiting for her answer the whole time and not ignoring her while roughhousing with a canine.

Sansa took a deep breath through her nose, knowing it wasn't really her place to turn him away and knowing that Margaery would scream bloody murder if she found out that Sansa had. "Do come in." Sansa welcomed with an open arm though knew that her expression did not match her welcoming tone.

Nymeria almost got tangled in Gendry's legs several times in her eagerness to stay close to him as he made his way into the living room, Sansa following behind.

Arya was lying on the sofa with her head facing away from the front door, exactly where Sansa had left her, so did not immediately notice their guest. Margaery however, sat on the chair facing the door, noticed him straight away. "Gendry!" She called out in surprise, eyes going wide as they darted back and forth between the former couple.

Arya immediately struggled, less than gracefully, to sit up quickly and turn to face him, the picture of perfect shock. _'She looks as surprised as I was.'_ She thought, confused now as to why he was here...or how he knew that he would find Arya here.

"Gendry?" Arya asked, confused. "What are you doing here?"

He stood a bit straighter, as though he were bracing himself, which made his coal black head nearly brush the ceiling. "I...uh..." _'Eloquent as ever.'_ Sansa thought to herself, sounding snide even in her own head and tried to shake it off. "I wanted to talk to you. Face-to-face."

Arya considered him for a moment, still looking confused. "How did you even know I'd be here?" She asked the question that Sansa herself had been pondering.

"Oh, Margaery mentioned it when she came to see me the other day." Gendry explained with a shrug.

Both Sansa’s and Arya's heads turned instantly to her wife, the Tyrell Rose wilting under the combined ice of the Stark Girls’ glares. Gendry seemed to notice that he had somehow dumped Margaery in it and looked a little sheepishly at her, an apology clear on his face.

"Yes...yes I did go to see him, housewarming gift in hand. It seemed so stupid to let the...misunderstanding remain as it was." Her wife crossed her arms as she spoke, defensive of her actions and, apparently, unapologetic.

"Housewarming? What, you've moved back up North?" Arya asked, a strange edge to her voice that Sansa reluctantly recognised as her trying not to get her hopes up.

"Yeah, well, I'm into the 'Industry' part of my internship and...King’s Landing hasn't been home for years. Tommen's the only good thing about down there...and Barra." At the confused glance everyone sent him, he coloured slightly before clarifying. "Oh, another little Baby Baratheon Bastard By-Blow. Cersei Lannister's words, not mine. The woman's a complete bitch but I do appreciate her use of alliteration." He stared off vacantly for a couple of seconds before he seemed to come back to himself. "Anyway, could we talk? Just the two of us?" He asked, throwing what he probably thought was a pointed but covert glance in Sansa’s direction.

Sansa stood firm and had absolutely no intention leaving.

"Certainly." Margaery beamed, standing regally from her chair to walk over to Sansa and pull her along with her to the kitchen. Sansa’s normally laid back wife could be swayed on most things but not, it seemed, when it came to Gendry Waters. She dug her heels in slightly but Margaery's insistent hand on her elbow pulled her firmly from the room.

They didn't say anything to each other when they were in the kitchen, Margaery breaking off immediately to make tea while Sansa stayed near the doorway so that she could eavesdrop.

"I'm sorry about the other day. Not very chivalrous of me to make a pregnant lady chase after me." Gendry’s deep voice rumbled from the other room.

Sansa scoffed at that. _'Less than chivalrous indeed!'_

"Sansa!" Margaery hissed, slapping her own thigh to get the redhead’s attention, the action identical to the one she used when reprimanding Lady. _“Get away from the door!”_ She mouthed to her but Sansa just shrugged her off.

"It's a really nice thing you're doing for them. M'not surprised though." _'He really doesn't sound surprised.'_ Sansa thought curiously, resenting the fact that Gendry was so _unsurprised_ by the whole thing whilst Sansa herself had been completely taken aback when the offer had originally been made by her younger sister.

"To be honest, I was...surprised by just how much seeing you like that affected me. I really thought...well, hoped, that I was completely over you but I don't think I would've reacted the way that I did if I was." Gendry got out and it sounded like real struggle for him to admit it.

“What?” Arya’s voice scoffed and Sansa could imagine the false-nonchalance that her sister was trying to project with the single word alone. “Your new bird not keeping you entertained.”

There was a pause before Gendry replied. “Don’t be a dick, Arya.” Sansa’s mouth opened in a wide O, outraged that he would dare speak to her sister like that in Sansa’s own home.

“Alright.” Arya let out a sigh, her voice conceding his point. “That was a bit of a knobish thing to say.” She muttered out, Arya’s version of an apology.

“You’re forgiven and…I’m not with Jeyne any more.” Gendry explained, voice sounding smaller now. “She was…” He seemed to struggle for a moment for the right way to finish that sentence, “a lovely girl but as soon as I found out I was leaving the city, I knew we’d never last long term.”

“I’m sorry.”Arya offered and Sansa was struck by the lack of sincerity to the words. Arya was not normally a sincere person with her words…nor tactful, gentle or generous but she never said anything where you couldn’t hear her conviction ringing through and this apology was as flat as a yeastless loaf.

“It’s okay. She…wasn’t the love of my life or anything.” He replied slowly and Sansa could practically hear his watermelon-sized adam’s apple bob from the next room.

Margaery hand was suddenly pulling on her elbow. "Leave them be!" She demanded imperiously. Sansa's only response was the glare at her so Margaery, knowing that she couldn't overpower her wife, resigned herself to stand next to her, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, ready to intervene should Sansa interrupt the exchange.

"Gendry-" Arya moaned, an obvious plea to stop.

"I miss you, ‘Arry." He whispered softly, stopping Arya in her tracks. _'I always hated that stupid nickname that he had for her but...I never heard him say it like that; like a prayer.'_ Sansa thought, hearing the clear affection there.

She heard Arya take a deep breath. "Gendry," she started softly, a pleading note buried in her voice, "we are completely different people to who we were two years ago. You don’t even know me anymore. But, I’m sure we still want completely different things."

"You don't know that. But I know you, Arya Stark; better than I know myself.” He announced with absolute confidence and the redhead could hear the smile in his voice. “Maybe I've changed and I don't want-"

"You haven't." Arya interrupted, a grudging but hollow laugh leaving her lips. "I know you haven't."

He huffed a bit at that, the petulant noise he would often give whenever Arya spoke for him. "Okay, maybe I do want the same things but...priorities. It's like your brother and my sister-"

"That's different. You know it's different! You shouldn't have to compromise!" Arya interrupted with a tight voice.

"I think it's my choice." Gendry argued back quietly.

"We can't. Not now. Please don't, Gendry." Arya pleaded, sounding as if she were starting to lose her composure.

"Arya..."

"Gendry, please-" She begged.

"...we should..."

"Gods! I'm married!" She confessed suddenly, sounding as if she were in agony to admit it but unable to bear another second without saying it.

The declaration hung in the air heavily. There was a long pause after that. At least, it seemed like a long moment to Sansa whom was stood in shock. Margaery clamped a hand over her wrist harshly in surprise, shaking it slightly as if to ask if Sansa had heard the same thing.

Gendry's quick yet heavy foot falls were the next noise to be heard as he swiftly exited the house, Nymeria whining softly after him.

She spun towards Margaery, whose face was a perfect imitation of the ‘Tully Gaping Trout’ expression that she constantly teased Sansa for wearing. "Did you know?" She whispered to Sansa in disbelief.

 _"No!"_ Sansa mouthed back, shaking her head vehemently before turning back towards the living room only to be met with the harsh glare of her sister, her posture rigid and nails looking like claws, dug into the wall next to Sansa's head.

Arya's face was a frozen mask of rage, her ire fully focused on Margaery now. She leaned in closer, her movements slow and measured before speaking with a furious calm. "The next time that I tell you to leave something alone...leave it be!" She spat before barging passed them and straight out of the back door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh! Reactions/Thoughts/Opinions please?!
> 
> *WC68*


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm alive and so is this story! Sorry for the long wait! I won't bore you with excuses but the last couple of months...yeah, they happened.
> 
> Anyway, moving on! Please enjoy and hopefully it was worth the wait!
> 
> *WC68*

The morning after Gendry’s confrontation of Arya, Sansa, Margaery and said pregnant lady were sitting awkwardly at the kitchen table, choking down food through the thick tension in the air, avidly _not_ mentioning the night before. Arya still looked livid but was sat stiffly in her seat, tolerating their company for the pay-off of food.

After the petite woman had stormed off and out of the house the evening before, Sansa and Margaery had discussed what had occurred. As Sansa wasn’t in the room at the time of her sister’s ‘confession’, she couldn’t be certain of the validity of what she had said, uncertain if the words spoken were true or merely a ploy to get Gendry to leave her be. Once the matter was broached again, Sansa thought that she would be able to know whether it was just a gambit or whether…or whether her sister was actually a married woman. She just didn’t know how to steer the topic there in a natural way…

“You know what I love?” Margaery asked, returning her spoon to the yoghurt pot held in her hand when the other two women looked to her expectantly. “Being someone’s wife.”

Sansa groaned at her wife’s lack of patience, putting her hand to her head. _‘She’s certainly lost the tact that Olenna had imbued her with whilst she was a politician-in-training.’_

Arya glared at Margaery harshly, meeting her stare square on before standing and leaving the table without a word.

Margaery huffed in disappointment. “Well, that didn’t work.” She announced in annoyance, distractedly patting Lady’s head that was resting on her thigh while the companion let out a small whine.

_‘On the contrary.’_ Sansa thought to herself dully. “She’s married.” The redhead confirmed with absolute certainty, bringing her elbows up to rest on the table in front of her, head in both hands now.

“Are you sure?” Margaery asked dubiously, looking over the various breakfast foods to consider her wife with a doubtful crease to her brow.

“I just…know. The look on her face…she’s gotten damnear a master at hiding her emotions since she went away, that’s no lie, but…I know that look.” Sansa spoke resolutely.

“So what does that mean? I mean…how is that possible? How could she be married and none of us know about it?” Margaery queried, face pinched in disbelief.

“Maybe someone does know about it. If something were a secret, the first she’d tell is Jon…though in this scenario, I’d be more inclined to say Bran.”

“But why would it be a secret? Do you think…do you think he was abusive or something?” The brunette edged cautiously, eying her wife carefully due to the sensitive subject matter.

“No. Arya would never be stupid enough to find herself in an abusive relationship.” Sansa replied, gnawing absentmindedly on the skin around her thumb.

“Sansa!” Margaery chided hotly, knowing that her wife’s comment was internalised rather than aimed at Arya which made it just as unbearable to hear.

Sansa seemed to snap herself out of her stupor at Margaery’s tone, taking her hand away from her mouth and taking a deep breath, dispelling the whisper of the past mindset curtesy of her former boyfriend. “Sorry.” She huffed, annoyed that the agitation with her sister caused her to slip into bad habits. “I just…I don’t see that. Not to Arya. She was the most vocal against my relationship with Joff and she always was. She had his card pegged from Day One so I don’t see her finding herself in that position.”

“So what then? Infidelity? Green Card? Cult Initiation?” Margaery reeled off, attempting to make light of the situation which frayed Sansa’s nerves in the circumstance.

“I don’t know! I don’t know why she would have a husband and not tell us!” Sansa snapped, resting her forehead on taut fingers.

“No saying it’s a man. She has been in Braavos for two years after all. ‘Blanket Marriage Equality’ over there and all that.” Margaery theorised, raising an intrigued eyebrow at her own notion.

“I appreciate you trying to keep Merry’s dream alive but my sister is neither gay nor bisexual, evidenced by the number of male, and only male…” Sansa paused to let out a derisive sniff before continuing, “ _dallianes_ that she’s had since returning home.”

“Girl’s got a hearty appetite. Nothing wrong with that.” Margaery wiggled her eyebrows at Sansa suggestively.

Sansa smiled in return and felt a flush begin to warm her cheeks when she sputtered in disapproval. “We…we’re getting off point!” She corrected indignantly.

“Right…sorry.” Margaery apologised smoothly, acknowledging that amidst such a serious conversation was probably not the most appropriate moment to flirt with her agitated spouse.

“So, what should we do?” Sansa enquired, sapphire eyes flitting around as the redhead pondered and analysed.

“Do?” Margaery balked, face looking somewhat aghast but unsurprised with her wife’s comment, knowing her wholly unable to _not_ meddle in her loved ones business if she felt justified.

“Yes… _do_ , Margaery.” Sansa reiterated, a pale ginger eyebrow arched elegantly.

“Well, _I’m_ not _doing_ anything. Your sister made her opinion on my ‘meddling’ quite clear and pregnancy hormones only make her scarier.” Margaery declared with eyes wide and palms open in surrender.

“But we can’t just let this lie!” Sansa implored desperately, hands clenching into fists on top of the table.

“Yes, we can. Whatever the issue is, she’ll tell us as and when it’s relevant to us or when she _wants_ us to know about it.” The Highgardener argued reasonably.

Sansa rolled her eyes in disagreement before pressing forward with a haughty tone. “But she’s my sister and-”

“Sansa, I know you Starks feel that it is your inherent birthright to meddle in eachother’s business but she has made her opinion clear and we need to respect that.” Sansa folded her arms and sulked like one of her first year students for a moment in silence. “We need to keep our Baby Mama sweet.” Margaery joked with a small flirtatious wink.

Sansa broke at that, a reluctant chuckle escaping through her plush lips. “ _You’re_ my Baby Mama.” She grumbled softly.

“Oooooh. I like the sound of that.” Margaery purred, leaning closer to nibble Sansa’s lips until they uncurled from their pout.

Sometimes a distracting flirtation with an agitated spouse during a serious discussion is _exactly_ what’s required.

*~*~*

_“Hey Brother.”_ Myrcella’s voice sang down the phone and Gendry thought it one of the only things that could make him smile today.

“’Ello Lil’ Sis.” Gendry got out, trying to keep his voice neutral.

_“So, I need to know what date, exactly, that you’re moving back up North so that I can free up my day to help you move in.”_ She stated authoritatively.

He paused slightly, knowing what was to come. “I’m already here.”

_“What?”_ She snapped, confused.

“I moved up last week.” He clarified, bracing himself for a sister-rant, still not completely adjusted to them or their existence.

_“What the hell?! You weren’t meant to be moving for another two weeks!”_

“I’m sorry, alright? I had all of my annual leave and overtime built up so I took it before I moved in lieu of pay so that I’d have time to get settled into my new place. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I was gunna’ call you this week once I’d settled in. I just thought you’d get a bit…” He trailed off awkwardly, dangerously aware that he was close to saying something his little sister would resent.

_“‘Get a bit’ what, exactly?”_ She asked, a clear challenge in her voice.

“Oh, come on, Cella. Don’t make me say it.” He laughed off easily.

_“Fine, fine.”_ She huffed. _“I…we should meet up then; the sooner the better. I need…well, I need to give you a heads up on some stuff.”_ Myrcella stated firmly yet somehow managing to sound nonchalant.

“You mean a heads up that Arya’s pregnant?” Gendry questioned dispassionately, grunting as he repositioned himself on the sofa.

Myrcella spluttered down the phone for a moment. _“What…did Hot Pie tell you?”_

“No; didn’t mention to him that I was coming down early either. It was all really last minute and he’s really busy with the new HP’s opening in Mole Town. I had the pleasure of finding out about Arya when I ran into her at the supermarket.” Gendry enthused drily.

_“Oh, no! Gendry! I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you before you came…”_ Myrcella cried out down the phone and he reckoned he could picture her face-palming herself as she spoke.

“I know, I know. It was…an unfortunate comedy of errors.” She was silent for a moment, at a rare loss for what to say. “Was there…was there anything _else_ about Arya that you wanted to forewarn me of?” He asked timidly, fairly certain that if the fact that she was now married was well known, Myrcella or even Margaery would have mentioned it before.

_“Like what?”_ She asked, sounding so genuinely confused that he knew that she hadn’t a clue.

“Oh, I don’t know…nothing.” He edged carefully.

_“You mean like, a boyfriend or something?”_ Gendry was silent. _“She’s not been seeing anyone…you know, if you were interested to know.”_

“Okay.” He answered, casually, not wanting to lie or give anything away to his overly perceptive sister. “We could still meet up though.” He offered. “I’ll let you buy me lunch.” He laughed down the phone.

_“We’ll see, smartarse!”_

*~*~*

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Hey, Bran! How’s GW? And Meera? xSx_ **

**From: Bran  
Hey, Sans! Meera’s good. She’s putting in more hours with Howland to make sure she knows as much as she can before he retires. I’m glad I moved down here as, honestly, I don’t think I’d have seen her this year at all otherwise! ;P ~B**

**From: Bran  
…and Greywater Watch is good! I can go between home, work, climbing centre and shops without needing to send up a flare now! Win! XD ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
I’m relieved for you! =D xSx_ **

**From: Bran  
…so? ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
So…? xSx_ **

**From: Bran  
8¬|**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
8^/ _ **

**From: Bran  
Come on, Sansa! I know your strategies! What’s up? ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Nothing’s ‘up’. xSx _ **

**_From: Sweet Sis  
I just wanted to ask you something about Arya. That’s all. xSx _ **

**From: Bran  
Continue…*waves hands magnanimously* ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
I was just curious to know if there was anything that you thought I should be made aware of? xSx _ **

**From: Bran  
…**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Anything ‘new’ with her that I should know? xSx _ **

**From: Bran  
Oh, wow. You know? ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
What?_ **

**From: Bran  
I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it quiet for too much longer. I told her so! ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Bran! What is it?!_ **

**From: Bran  
Well, I suppose you might as well hear/read it from me. ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
!!! _ **

**From: Bran  
She’s… ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
WHAT?!?!?! _ **

**From: Bran  
PREGNANT! 8¬O ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
YOU’RE AN IDIOT! >8^( _ **

**From: Bran  
Sorry! ;¬D Seriously though, what are you talking about? ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Forget it. xSx _ **

**From: Bran  
Don’t be mad at me! 8¬’( ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
I’m not mad! I’m just a little worried about her. Wanted to know if you knew anything I didn’t but you obviously don’t. xSx _ **

**From: Bran  
…should I be worried? Ō¬ō ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
No! Forget it! It’s probably just me being…me! ;^P xSx _ **

**From: Bran  
You do that a lot! Well, if you’re sure… ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Positive! xSx_ **

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Don’t tell her I asked. xSx _ **

**From: Bran  
Asked what? ~B**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
;^D_ **

**From: Bran  
X¬D**

**_From: Sweet Sis  
Love you! xSx_ **

**From: Bran  
<3U2 ~B**

*~*~*

“I’m going to do it, Devan.” Shireen announced with determination, foot tapping with nervous energy and head nodding in excitement. “I’m going to tell them that I’m not staying at Dragonstone next year.”

Devan nearly choked on his coffee, putting the cup back on it’s saucer quickly, the porcelain clattering loudly. “Shireen, I don’t know.” Devan drawled with uncertainty, squeezing the back of his neck tensely. “Your father’s reaction-”

“I don’t care about his reaction!” Shireen argued back but then dithered, thinking about the statement. “Okay, I _do_ care but Dragonstone is not where I want to be. The course is poor, the lecturers are indifferent, I _still_ live at home with my parents and…I just want to _be_ , Dev. Do you know what I mean?” She asked desperately, looking into his eyes from where he sat across the table from her, blue eyes beseeching him to understand and offer her some of the reassurance she most definitely needed to get through this.

“No, not really.” He replied, looking a bit lost and staring at her wide eyed, clearly not expecting such a serious conversation from his girlfriend so soon after landing on the island for a visit.

Shireen let out a frustrated huff and looked down at the table, blowing the raven-black hair from her eyes in agitation before looking up and trying again. “I need some independence.” She clarified, in the back of her mind wondering how Devan couldn’t possibly _know_ this, the way that Lya, Edric and Rickon just _knew_ it but then felt guilty for feeling that way, thinking that maybe she was being unfair and expecting too much from her boyfriend. “I have lived under the thumb of my parents for so long now that I think I might combust if I don’t just spread my wings and break free of them.”

“Okay…” Devan trailed off, sounding uncertain as he pulled on his own black hair slightly, brown eyes wide and doubtful. “So, what will you do instead?”

“Well, I always wanted to study Mathematics at Winterfell…” Shireen started and she saw Devan’s eyes narrow slightly, suspicious at even the mention of the North, “…but I think that was just about wanting to be close to my friends there.” Shireen answered. Despite the fact that she intentionally didn’t mention Rickon in her reply, not wanting to start this fight with Devan yet _again_ , the answer itself was still true. Lyanna and Rickon had been such a big part of her life back when university choices were starting to be made that, even though Winterfell University had a good department and it was definitely better than Dragonstone’s, she now felt that maybe it wasn’t big enough for what she wanted or new enough for what she needed. “I’ve been looking into it and…Pentos has an _amazing_ Mathematics department. Really, unparalleled by anything we have in Westeros.”

“Essos?” Devan questioned, eyes going wide again and looking dubious. “You’re parents won’t like that.” He let out a mirthless laugh and shook his head.

“I know they won’t like it, Devan! That’s why I’m looking for some support from you now before I tell them!” Shireen barked back, blue eyes stormy.

“What? You wan’t to tell them now? While I’m visiting?” Devan choked out, looking flummoxed.

“Yes! I thought…I was hoping you’d be there with me when I tell them.” Shireen answered, voice becoming more uncertain with every word she spoke, not quite understanding his reaction.

“Oh, Reeny. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It’s so…personal. And I don’t think they’ll react well. I think it’s better if…it’s just you…all.” He replied before taking a large gulp of his coffee, presumably as a distraction, a light sheen of sweat now shimmering just under his dark hairline.

_‘How did my brave Onion Knight raise such a coward?’_ Shireen thought to herself in disbelief, shaking her head slightly, though her boyfriend failed to notice, nearly hyperventilating as he was at the mere thought of her father’s glower alone.

“Fine. I’ll just…just wait until after you’re gone then.” She offered unethuthiastically, playing with the straw in her milkshake as she looked over at him forlornly.

Devan nodded enthuthiastically, looking so relieved that she worried he might make water right there at the table. “I think that’s for the best. We wouldn’t want to put a downer on my visit, would we?” Devan smiled back at her sweetly and it made her angry.

_‘No, we certainly wouldn’t.’_ Shireen thought snidely through her disappointment.

*~*~*

**_From: Sansa  
Hey Jon! How’s it going? How’s Dany and CB? xSx_ **

That’s all it took. Suddenly, an image assigned to Jon’s caller ID was lighting up her phone. It was a photo of her and Jon’s faces pressed together imitating each others usual photo poses, Sansa attempting a grim and stoic straight-faced look though the crease at the edge of her lips gave away that she was milliseconds away from breaking out into laughter and Jon attempting Sansa’s sultry camera pose and, annoyingly, wearing better than her. She rolled her eyes, preparing herself for a couple of more rings before answering.

“Hey, Jon.” Sansa trilled down the phone, attempting to sound innocent. “What a coincidence.” She joked lightly.

There was a long pause where only Jon’s suspicious breathing could be heard. Sansa could imagine his tense face and norrowed stare only too easily from the other end of the call. _“What’s wrong?”_ He asked, voice tight and tone apprehensive.

She sighed. “Nothing’s ‘wrong’. Why do you always assume something’s wrong?!” Sansa barked down the phone, snapping anxiously due to the fact that she knew her brother was infinitely more adept at registering a deception in her voice as opposed to a text.

_“Sansa…”_ Jon drawled solemly, voice expectant.

“I…Arya?” She suddenly blurted out, seeing if she could surprise him into giving something away.

_‘Not with **this** brother.’_ She lamented internally as the line went silent, knowing the tactic to be more historically successful on Robb or Bran than her more stoic elder brother.

_“Is she okay?”_ His voice cracked slightly in worry and Sansa chastised herself immediately for making him worry for the pregnant, little sister hundreds of miles away that he loved irrevocably.

“Yes! Gods, sorry. I didn’t mean…she’s fine, Jon. I promise.” He sighed in relief. “Well, I mean…” She trailed off awkwardly, not _actually_ knowing if the statement were true, “she’s…I’m worried.”

_“Tell me.”_ Jon ordered calmly.

“It’s just…she’s not herself and I wondered if she’d maybe…confided anything in you? That you felt that maybe I should now since we’re living together? So that I can help her?” Sansa continued to elaborate awkwardly.

_“Such as?”_ His voice rumbled back, suspicious now.

“Such as…” Sansa wavered, weighing her words carefully before rolling her eyes and sighing in defeat. “Jon, has she ever talked to you about what she did while she was away?”

_“‘Away’ as in travelling?”_ Jon replied, voice slightly confused now.

“Yes! I mean, you saw her right? You met up with her a couple of times while you were both out there?” Sansa prodded gently, absently twirling a lock of hair around her finger while she kept a ear open for Margaery or Arya’s return.

_“A couple of times.”_ Jon agreed yet elaborated no further.

“So?! How did she seem? Was she… _with_ anyone? Did she _mention_ anyone?” The redhead pushed, feeling slight frustration at the fact that getting information out of Jon was often like trying to get blood from a stone.

_“Like who?”_ Jon queried evenly.

“Stop answering my questions with a question!” Sansa barked, patience wavering.

_“Stop asking ambiguous questions.”_ Jon whot back instantly, voice unmoved.

“It’s just…she’s been…different, since she came back.” Sansa sighed, not able to pin point what it was exactly but knowing it to be true. She supposed that she had been so relieved to have Arya back safe and well that she never questioned it too much but what if this was the reason? This ‘Husband’ that Arya had confessed to? What if _he_ was the cause of her sister sometimes seeming like a different person? Or was Sansa blowing this whole revelation massively out of proportion and that was just simply what happened when someone emigrated for two years to another country and simply ‘grew up’ differently than anticipated? “You’ve seen that too, right?” Sansa asked softly, desperate to see if she was overexagerating or if her most observant sibling had seen these changes too.

_“So, what does that have to do with who she was with?”_ Jon asked back, not denying Sansa’s observation yet seemingly intrigued by the direction she was taking it.

“I…I just hope she didn’t do anything stupid while she was out there…in an attempt to get Gendry out of her system.” Sansa half-answered, not able to expand further without flat out lying to her brother.

A long pause followed. Sansa was certain her brother was pondering whether to push her for further expansion on the point before he let out a soft sigh. _“She travelled alone. She was clear on that. But, honestly Sansa, I don’t think it wise for **you** to press the matter.”_

“Why the emphasis on the ‘me’?” Sansa returned tightly, feeling her brow scrunch in offence.

_“You know why.”_ Jon returned softly.

That stung.

She knew it wasn’t Jon’s intention but the words felt like a mule kicking her in the abdomen; sharp, painful and taking the breath from her instantly. The truth was that this was not the first time that Sansa had been unable to recognise her sister through her behaviour.

A couple of years ago, when Arya and Gendry had broken up and he subsequently left the North, her little sister had seriously gone off of the rails. It was roughly three or four months of the brunette going out until all hours, disappearing for days on and end reappearing with blood shot eyes and smelling like a brewery, shutting down anyone that questioned her about it by laughing snidely or simply walking away. This behaviour eventually culminated in a Sunday Dinner showdown a month or so before Sansa and Margaery’s wedding when Arya had staggered into the house, beaten to hell and unable to stand up straight or slur her way through an explanation of what had happened. When their Mother had screamed at her, clearly at her wits end, not knowing how to deal with Arya and her behaviour anymore Arya had screamed back, Arya had screamed back until her throat was raw and her voice cracked, seemingly unable to contain her rage for a second longer. She yelled about how they had all sabatoged her and Gendry from the first day she’d brought him home, she shrieked about how their snobbery had ruined her happiness and wailed about how none of them cared. They all bore the brunt of her ire that day but Arya’s enraged, slate stare had lingered heavily on their parents as well as Sansa and Robb. She’d stormed out that day; packed a bag, left her phone in her flat for Lyra and Jory to find before falling off of the face of the earth completely. No one saw her, spoke to her, knew where she was; nothing. This was the case right up until the morning of Sansa’s wedding. As heartbroken as she was, the redhead had accepted that her sister was so angry with her that she wasn’t going to attend at all when she had walked into the venue that morning to see her sister terrorising the planner on how the decorations were laid out wrong as if nothing had happened.

_‘We’ve still never spoken about it.’_ Sansa realised dispassionately, not even knowing if she ever wished to address the matter.

“He’s back you know.” Sansa spoke evenly, voice small and empty, her tone almost conversational. “Gendry.” She clarified, gnawing slightly on the skin around her thumbnail in response to her agitation.

_“He is?”_ Jon questioned, shock evident in his voice.

“Yeah.” She confirmed before heaving a big sigh. “Jon…he’s never been right for her.” Sansa implored earnestly, trying to get her brother to understand where she’d been coming from for all those years though she acknowledged that it was somewhat moot now.

_“Sansa…if you’ve not learned by now that no one, not one of us, can tell Arya what’s right for her and what’s not…”_ He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Sansa gripped her hair tightly, pulling the strands harshly before grunting in grudging acknowledgement that on this matter, she had not matured or adapted at all.

_‘Maybe that needs to change.’_

*~*~*

_Week Twenty-Three: Week of the Grapefruit_ rolled around and the tension in the house was damnnear killing Sansa and Margaery. Arya showed no signs of forgiving and forgetting and Nymeria seemed to be taking her cue from her companion, sniffing in derision when anyone got too close to her, including her sister, despite Lady’s insistent, apologetic nuzzling.

They were all sat in the living room, Margaery and Sansa on the sofa, Lady stretched out on the floor between them and Arya sitting as far away from them as possible whilst still being in the same room on one of the chairs, Nymeria resting her large head on Arya’s knee. Sansa was lying with her head in Margaery’s lap, the Highgarden girl’s fingers carding through her hair on autopilot while she flicked through the TV channels when Lady and Nymeria both leaped up only a second before Arya jerked and let out a surprised yelp, hand going to her belly.

Sansa and Margaery leaped up immediately, rushing to Arya’s side, Sansa bounding over the coffee table to get to her sister’s side quicker. “What’s wrong?! What’s wrong?!” She called out, panicked. “Marge, call an ambulance!” Sansa commanded imperiously.

Margaery turned, presumably trying to locate the phone when Arya interrupted. “Sweet Stranger, don’t call an ambulance.”

“But what’s wrong?! What’s wrong?!” Sansa repeated, going into full on panic mode, shouting loudly despite being bent over Arya, the distance between the redhead’s mouth and brunette’s ear minimal, causing the younger girl to grimace slightly.

“Take it down a decibel level and chill your fucking tits, alright?” Arya snapped back, readjusting herself in her seat with a peculiar expression on her face. “It’s just…they’re-”

“They’re what?” Margaery asked, quieter but no less panicked.

“Moving.” Arya answered softly, sounding a little shell-shocked.

“Moving?” Sansa repeated in awe, hands going straight to her sister’s stomach.

“I don’t think you’ll feel it. It feels like it’s directed inwards and it’s my organs having the dubious pleasure.” Arya clarified.

Sansa however refused to be deterred and lifted Arya’s shirt to press her ear to her stomach, convinced that if she couldn’t _feel_ the movement for herself, that she would be able to _hear_ it.

_‘My Wife: The Educated Teacher.’_ Margaery thought to herself with an internal chuckle.

Margaery took a seat on the arm of the chair, biting her lip to tame her smile as she put a hesitant hand on the side of Arya’s abdomen. Margaery pulled her hand away after a moment, admitting defeat while Sansa waited a further moment before she pulled her head away, looking put out, an adorable, pouting crease to her brow. “Babes, when Mam tells you to do something, she expects you to do it. Now,” She started, lying her stomach across the arm of the chair, arse pushed up in the air in a less than ladylike fashion before pressing a single fingertip to the skin the right of Arya’s bellybutton, “high five!”

Arya bit her lip at Sansa’s stubborn, expectant expression. Sansa huffed threw one arm up in the air, thoroughly put out. “Babies! This is a bad presedent you’re setting. Marge, tell them!” Sansa huffed, wrapping her arms around Arya’s waist, burrowing up to her belly again. Arya thought that her sister was milking it slightly, using the babe development to cut through their recent tensions, knowing that Arya wouldn’t push her away when it was babe-related but couldn’t get too angry at her for it considering the happy looks on both of their faces.

“Me? You’re going to be the enforcer-parent. I’m going to be the cool, laidback fun-loving parent that they come to to talk about how unreasonable you are and to get permission for things that you’ve already said no to.” Margaery rebuked calmly, making Arya burst out laughing and Sansa scowl.

“Come on.” Sansa spoke, pulling her sister’s hand gently to lead her over to the sofa. “We will continue this discussion on the sofa, my little, tiny trio.” Sansa muttered darkly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely didn't mean to leave it on a cliffie on the last chapter; not my intention at all!
> 
> Not going to get an answer on that front right away though I'm afraid...
> 
> *WC68*


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep! Another chapter right away as an apology so hopefully I am forgiven!
> 
> *WC68*

“Neither Jon or Bran know anything about this ‘Husband’.” Sansa whispered to Margaery when they were both snugly enclosed under their bed covers.

Margaery let out a sigh immediately, shaking her head slightly as she put her magazine down. “Sansa, you didn’t _seriously_ ask them about this, did you?”

“What? If anyone would know it would be them.” Sansa reasoned, stroking an idle hand over Margaery’s midriff as she spoke.

“So you just came out and asked?” The brunette enquired with a raised eyebrow.

“No! I’m not an idiot! But I can tell from what they said that there’s no ‘secrets’ that they’re keeping for her.” The redhead replied, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling as she pondered what her next move should be, chewing on her lip thoughtlfully.

For a long moment only the crinkle of the crisp bedsheets could be heard as Margaery began to shift her legs in agitation. “Sansa, Arya has only just begun to forgive us for this whole Gendry thing. I really wish you wouldn’t meddle.” Margaey emplored with beseeching eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not meddling?” Sansa huffed, letting her hand smack down onto the duvet and release a soft thud.

“And how many times do I have to tell you that you’re meddling before you consider the possibility that you actually are?” Her wife responded evenly, quirking an eyebrow and looking over at her expectantly.

Sansa huffed and deliberated for a moment, closing her eyes and considering what Margaery was saying rather than dismissing it instantly. “Fine, maybe I am. But it’s coming from a good place; a place of love.” Sansa returned earnestly, turning her head to look at Margaery. Margaery’s only response was an unconscious dubious eyebrow raise before she went back to her magazine. “Excuse me!” Sansa balked as she raised herself to rest on her arm to hover over her wife, annoyed at Margaery’s unintentional insinuation. “Are you saying it’s _not_ coming from a place of love?” Sansa pushed, sounding hurt that Margaery could actually think that.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all, Sansa.” Margaery consoled. “I just think that maybe…” The older woman trailed off, weighing her words carefully.

“Maybe what?” Sansa pushed after a tense moment.

Margaery sighed then let out a slight cough before throwing her magazine aside and turning onto her side to meet her wife’s stare squarely whilst wrapping a lose arm around her midriff. “I think that you’re…projecting slightly on this issue.”

“Projecting? From what?” Sansa returned, genuinely confused now.

“Sweet Girl, I think that you are still terrified of what Maester Coleman said and you’re desperately running around trying to solve some ‘big mystery’ to distract yourself from the real issue you have yet to deal with.” Margaery spoke softly, forehead creased slightly in concern as her brown eyes roamed over Sansa’s face, carefully studying every inch for a reaction.

“Arya has made her decision; I can’t do anything about that.” Sansa replied curtly, throwing herself onto her back again and folding her arms over chest ontop of the covers.

“I know that…and maybe that’s just as terrifying a prospect for you. You’ve had no real say in it and, love you as I do, you do not hand over the reigns with any particular grace or tranquility.” Margaery replied, biting her lip slightly to stop herself from smiling just in case Sansa took the comment the wrong way. When Sansa merely rolled her eyes with a slight curl to her lips Margaery knew that her wife was not offended. “Just…please leave it alone. If Arya _wants_ to suddenly tell us, she will and if she doesn’t, she won’t.” Sansa closed her eyes, seemingly in defeat, before nodding her head slightly. Margaery continued to study her profile for a long moment, waiting for her to open her eyes again. “You know, you can talk to me if there’s anything you want to…express, about what Coleman said.” Margaery offered softly, smiling encouragingly when Sansa’s blue eyes popped open to look at her.

“I know. I’m just…I’m not sure what there is to say; we’re both in the same boat, I reckon.” Sansa replied evenly, gifting her wife with a small, rueful smile.

“Then maybe you should speak to someone in a different boat.” Margaery replied, lifting a hand to her fingers over Sansa’s still crossed arms. “Same fleet but different captain.” She joked with a small, teasing smile.

“You have nose-dived into a far too elaborate nautical metaphor that I have no hope of following.” Sansa replied on a laugh, wiping her hands over her face in agitation before turning to her wife with a grudging smile of her own.

“I thought you were a fish?” Margaery challenged, eyebrow raised.

“It’s trout, not fish, and I’m a wolfish trout!” Sansa argued back, smile getting bigger at the lighthearted teasing.

“I’d rather you be a troutish wolf; at least then you have some teeth.” Margaery retorted, showing her teeth with a small growl.

Sansa rolled over suddenly and threw herself on top of Margaery with little finesse, making the smaller woman chuckle. “Don’t you worry about that…” Sansa trailed off slightly before biting down harshly on Margaery’s neck, making her groan out a laugh in surprise.

*~*~*

“Hey Cousin!” Lyra shouted as soon as she walked through threshold of The Smoking Log, one of the most popular places to drink in Winter Town and a long time haunt of both girls.

“Hey, Bitch!” Arya called back with a smile, letting Lyra crush her in one of her standard hugs, instinctively tilting her hips away to alleviate the pressue on her belly.

“Isn’t Sansa going to flip her fucking lid when she finds out you’ve been here.” Lyra asked, making her way over to the bar, flagging the barman down with a wink making him smirk lecherously at her in return before eagerly walking over. He was a tall guy with short, dark red hair, stubble and a chisled jaw; easily good looking by anyone’s standards. After Lyra ordered their drinks, trailing her fingers down his forearm unneccesarily, they settled down at a table near the pool table, putting a copper groat on the side immediately to reserve the next game.

“Is that the one you’ve been fucking then?” Arya asked simply, shrugging off her outer layers.

“Yep.” She said smugly. “Conn.” Smirking back over her shoulder in the direction of the bar again.

“He doesn’t look like your normal type at all.” Arya commented wryly with a smirk.

“Oh, fuck off!” Lyra laughed it off, knowing that Arya was being sarcastic. “There’s nothing wrong with appreciating some complication-free fun with pretty, stupid boys.”

“No, there’s not.” Arya agreed, thinking that she had indulged in the same herself in the last couple of years. “So what’s new? Since apparently your taste in men isn’t.” Arya laughed.

“All fairly standard.” Lyra replied before taking a heavy pull from her horn. The previous players left and Lyra jumped up to take their cues. “Me and Jory are going in halves on a house in Winter Town. It’s quite small but enough for us until someone manages to steal us away and we start popping out babes.” Lyra took her first shot, potting a solid. “Speaking of popping out babes…” Lyra trailed off, giving her a significant look.

“Yeah, they’re alright. They started moving the other day.” Arya announced, Lyra instantly leaping across the table to press her palm to Arya’s belly. “They’re not moving now, idiot.” Arya chided, ignoring Lyra’s annoyed glare. “Besides, it’s more internal moving. Actual movement that you can feel is still probably a few weeks away.”

“Lead with that next time.” Lyra sniped, looking disappointed that she wouldn’t feel anything. “Anything else? You good?” Lyra questioned and, as much as Margaery and Sansa were supportive and always concerned about her well-being, it was nice to have someone ask her just to ask her for herself as opposed to for the primary purpose of the babes.

“I’m alright. I’ve moved on from the morning sickness, aversion to meat, constant peeing and general fatigue to uncontrollable outburst of emotion, nightmares and a rabid sex drive whilst being too gross to actually attract anyone.” Arya delivered evenly.

“I’m sure you could find someone to fuck you. There’s fetish for everything nowadays; no doubt there’s a website for fucking pregnant women. Maybe you could join the chat room or something?” Lyra smirked as she goaded her friend before taking a shot.

“Wow. What a tempting prospect.” Arya retorted sarcastically before gesturing at her cousin to let her know _exactly_ what she thought of her suggestion making Lyra cackle in response.

“Just a thought.” She smiled. “Anyway, nightmares? About what?” Lyra asked, the intended ball bouncing off of the cushion as she spoke causing the raven-haired girl to curse before looking up at Arya again.

“Nothing in particular.” Arya shrugged off, feeling uncomfortable that she had let that slip out. Before Lyra could push more, she took the cue from her, considering her shot intently.

Arya stepped up after deciding to go for the purple striped ball but hit a literal barrier in terms of her burgeoning stomach. She tried to get close enough to the table a couple of time, manipulating the shape of her body and letting pitiful noises of frustration escape her before giving up and leaning over the table from the other side to take the shot but the angle was all wrong and had too much backspin on it so managed to zing around the table before kissing the black ball into the middle pocket. “Oh, fuck!” Arya groaned, the look on her face declaring her to be annoyed beyond measure.

“Dude! You suck!” Lyra teased, looking disgusted at the poor show and the premature end to their game.

“Shut up!” Arya snapped hotly. “Three fucking mangoes in my stomach are hard to…manoeuvre around. Unlucky pack of…wait, what do you call multiple mangoes?” She asked, turning to Lyra.

“Mangoes.” Lyra replied simply after finishing her drink.

“No, no, like a bunch of bananas, a bushel of apples…” Arya trailed off, looking to her friend expectantly.

“How the fuck should I know?” Lyra snapped, looking bemused, never liking the pressure of being put on the spot. Before Arya could snap back, two guys approached, smirking pompously. One had slicked back, mousy brown hair and was of a height with Lyra whilst the other stood a head taller, with dirty blonde hair curling into his eyes; Arya supposed that the guy felt it made him look dreamy. _‘Or whatever fucking word girls use nowadays to say **‘I’d fuck him’**.’_

“’Ello Ladies. Fancy a game of doubles?” The shorter one asked, looking Lyra up and down with less subtlety than a nuclear bomb.

“Can I pick a new partner?” Lyra snarked, glaring at Arya, making the other two laugh.

“Oh, fuck off.” Arya snapped, storming back to their table and getting her drink.

“Easy on, Girls. We could make it interesting? Say, a silver stag each?” Surfer Boy put in, his smile designed to charm and fuck it all of Lyra didn’t look interested.

“Fuck off, Mate! Playing with Violet Beauregarde, over here?” Lrya argued with a smile, pointing in Arya’s direction, ignoring her offended squak.

“Well, if you’re scared that you’re going to lose to two blokes, we can just-” The brunette baited, turning away as if to grant them mercy.

“We’re not scared of anything; you’re on!” Arya argued, shaking the offered hand of the taller one.

“What?! I ‘aint putting a stag in! It could serve a far better purpose in my own pocket than theirs.” Lyra argued hotly.

“Don’t be such a fucking girl, Lyra!” Arya argued with a bored look on her face.

“Yeah, Lyra. Don’t be such a fucking girl!” The blonde mocked, punching his friend in the arm and laughing as if he’d made the best joke of his life. _‘To be fair, it might have been.’_ Arya thought with little sympathy.

Lyra flipped her head around sharply to glare at him, black hair curling into her emerald stare. _‘He’s fucking blown it!’_ Arya commentated to herself with an internal chuckle, knowing from years of sharing a wall with Lyra that the bloke had missed out. “Fine!” She snapped, turning to set up the table.

What followed was the usual, regimented and choreographed destruction that Lyra and Arya had been implementing for years which, as always, concluded with their unknowing victim’s flummoxed expression before storming off with a big ol’ man-pout. “Thanks boys! This will keep us in drinks for the rest of the night.” Lyra boomed her parting words, smile smug on her face and a flittering wave of her fingers to send them off.

“Aren’t you two ever going to stop doing that?” Layna, the land lady, asked them with a fond smile as they made their way upto the bar.

“Sure we will…when it stops being funny.” Arya laughed, the other two joining in.

*~*~*

“Hey Dad!” Sansa enthused eagerly, snuggling into his embrace immediately, making Ned chuckle that she had to bend her knees slightly to get her head under his jaw now but she still did it anyway because that was her ‘Dad-Hug’.

“How are you, Child?” He asked, holding her at arms length to study her slightly. She looked a little stressed but then she always did. She looked tired but she had come straight from work so that wasn’t such a surprise to Ned.

“Good. I’m great, Dad!” Sansa smiled though it was slightly forced. If Ned hadn’t have thought something was amiss when Sansa had invited him alone for a coffee, he was convinced now after seeing her in the flesh.

The older man nodded, unconvinced, silently pulling out a chair for his daughter. Sansa sat down with a polite nod, courtesy ever in place, smiling at him as he took his own seat opposite her.

Their drink orders were taken immediately by a circling waiter and soon they were left alone again to chat. Ned was patient and prepared to wait. Sansa was never one to come out and talk about what was bothering her straight away; she needed to be lulled first, observe the empty courtesy of an interested catch-up on the day-to-day workings of each other’s lives before she would broach the reason for which they were brought together. This is why, twenty minutes later when Sansa started to fidget slightly, eyes focused on the napkin that she was agitadely shredding to pieces, Ned decided that it was time to broach the problem, slowly covering her hands with his own larger ones, stilling their motion instantly.

“Sweetheart,” He called out to get her to look up at him, “is something wrong?”

Sansa threw down what remained of her serviette in defeat, putting her head in her hands and breathing deeply.

“Sweetheart?” He asked concerned. “What is it?”

Sansa took a final deep breath and then looked up at her Father. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s just…” She trailed of, hesitation written over her face before continuing. “I’m worried about Arya.”

“Why?” Ned asked simply, face sombre as he folded his handly neatly infront of himself, resting them on the table.

Sansa licked her lips nervously before leaning forward on the table, closer to her father before telling him everything. She spoke of the conversation in Maester Coleman’s office regarding his concerns for Arya’s health to the conversation with Arya herself that followed, the differences she had observed in her sister since her return and even some general caviling about living with each other again. She spoke of everything except for the news of Arya’s spouse; as discussed with Margaery, Sansa grudgingly admitted that it just wasn’t her business. Sansa purposefully didn’t leave things out when asking for her father’s advice so that she knew that whatever reaction or guidance he gave was true and informed; she trusted her father’s judgement more than anyone’s and he would tell her if he thought that she had done wrong.

“So, what do you think?” Sansa asked nervously, wringing her fingers.

“What do _you_ think?” Her father deflected, his face, as usual, giving nothing away.

“I…I feel guilty.” Sansa confessed, looking down, ashamed.

“Why?” Her Father pressed insistently.

“Because…I’m completely torn. It felt like choosing between my sister and my children and I was…relieved when she took the decision from me. It feels…disloyal and selfish to let her endanger herself and I think to myself, _‘Half of the reason you argue is because you push your opinions on her and try to make her do what you want so let her make her own choice’_ but then I can’t honestly say that that thought process is out of respect for her or because it suits me? How horrible is that? I just…I can’t even judge my own motives! I don’t want to risk Arya and I don’t want to risk my babes either but I just…I don’t…” Sansa gave up, nearly out of breath from her ramble, rubbing her fingers over her temples, eyes closed when her father reached across the table, gently but firmly pulling her hands from her head.

“Be calm, Child.” Ned soothed, his deep baritone soothing her as much as it did when she actually was a child, rubbing his thumbs over her knuckles softly.

Sansa nodded, keeping her eyes closed and letting the breath return to her lungs. “Well?” She pressed after her deep breathing had stopped and her father still didn’t speak.

Her father considered her for a long moment, thinking through what he was about to say thoroughly before he readjusted his position in his seat, non-verbally tipping Sansa off to the fact that he was about to speak.

“Sansa, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You always have been. This is an impossible situation to be in; there is no right answer so there is, most certainly, no wrong answer.” Ned made certain to keep eye contact with her to confirm that she was listening. “Your sister will do as she will; she always has. She will not cower from anything.” Ned stated calmly, fighting the urge to smile, as he always did, when thinking of his two daughters, as different as can be but the same in more ways than either could see. “That is not your burden to bear. The decision has been made and it does no good to dwell on these things; just pray that all ends well. The Gods have granted you this opportunity; we just need hope that they have their plan.” He stated, resolutely. The moment was tense but Sansa nodded, eyes down as she considered all that her father had said. “In a years time, your biggest worry will be that you are going through nappies faster than you can buy new ones.” Ned offered with a straight face, façade only cracking when his girl laughed at the thought.

“Yes.” Sansa replied firmly. “Yes. My sister and little sweet potatoes will be just fine.” Ned knew that his face was likely confused but just nodded along anyway, making Sansa laugh again. “Oh, it’s a _thing_ we’re doing.” Sansa offered with a shrug and a smile, standing immediately and rushing to hug him. “Thanks, Dad.” She whispered into his neck to which he just held her tighter.

*~*~*

Gendry and Myrcella took a seat in a quiet booth at the back of HP’s, away from the lunchtime rush. They were left with their menues and a pitcher of complimentary ale to start them off. _‘Ah, I truly am back in the North now.’_ Gendry thought fondly. “You know I don’t drink but you feel free.” Gendry offered his sister, gesturing towards the pitcher.

Myrcella scrunched her nose at that. “Not really my beverage of choice. I stopped drinking it when I stopped being a student and could afford to not watch every copper I spent.” Gendry considered her disbelievingly at that, finding the idea that a Lannister would have to watch their purse ridiculous. She raised a challenging eyebrow at that. “My Mother did not approve the locale of my University choice and reacted the only way that she knows how; by cutting me off.”

“Oh.” Gendry replied abashed, feeling heat creep up his neck. “Well, you ruined that for me.” He snarked in an attempt to break the tension.

“I try.” She replied with a casual smile. “So, how has the first week of the job gone?”

“Good.” He nodded his head. “It’s a lot closer to what I’ve wanted to be doing the whole time. Still got to balance a couple of classes in with everything else but this feels like a good fit.” Gendry spoke confidentally, nodding his head slightly as he spoke.

“That’s great, Gendry.” She replied eagerly.

They chit chatted about Myrcella’s work at the hospital and Tommen for a few minutes before they ordered food and some non-alcoholic beverages.

“So…” Myrcella drew out somewhat awkwardly and Gendry had the impression that she was about to broach something that she had been building herself upto. “Sansa told me about your…encounter at their place.” She stated, looking cautiously towards her brother. Gendry stared straightfaced back, saying nothing. She held up a placating hand quickly. “And before you think it’s about Ar, it’s not. I’m not asking anything about Ar. You’re a big boy, if you want to talk to me about it you will. It’s not that bit that I’m broaching with you now.”

“What bit are you broaching then?” Gendry asked, still slightly dubious.

Myrcella took a bracing breath. “Barra?”

“Oh.” Gendry responded, feeling a bit guilty and self-involved for bracing himself for an Arya inquisition instead of this. “I’m sorry. It just seemed to…slip out. I wasn’t planning on making it public knowledge.”

“So…tell me about her.” Myrcella asked weakly.

“Myrcella, I’m not sure if-”

“I said tell me about her.” Myrcella reiterated firmly, eyes burning and Gendry dare not refuse her again.

“She’s…a sweetheart.” He stated, feeling a stupidly wide grin spread across his face which Myrcella eagerly but more sedately returned. “She’s One, little tuft of black hair, brown eyes and a smile that’ll melt your heart.”

“Yeah? You…Do you have a picture?” She asked keenly.

Gendry looked at her for a long moment before grabbing his phone from his pocket, pressing and swiping at the screen before flipping it around for his sister’s inspection. The picture was of little Barra a few moons ago at her first birthday party, wearing a blue dress and holding her cuddly companion, a grey bunny called Bunny, close to her chest, a wide, gummy smile on her face.

“She’s a cutie.” Myrcella smiled somewhat sadly, flicking through his album to a variety of pictures of Barra alone, with Bunny, at Blackwater Bay and with big-brother Gendry holding her in his massive arms. “What about her Mother?”

Gendry’s enthusiasm faded slightly at the question, expression turning dubious again. “Mhaegen? Yeah…yeah, she’s a nice girl.”

Myrcella narrowed her eyes at that, the word choice setting off alarm bells in her head. “Girl?” She asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, she’s…oh shit, there’s no delicate way of saying it. She’s twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Myrcella boomed, disgust ringing clear in her tone.

“I know.” He replied, clearly used to the idea now but still put off by it.

“But…that’s disgusting! She’s younger than us! And Tommen, even!” Myrcella spat, her gorgeous face contored in repulsion.

“I know, Cella. You don’t have to tell me.” Gendry replied, voice slightly amused though he shook his head in disbelief at the same time.

Myrcella shook her head, blonde hair swinging wildly, still looking like she wanted to rant some more but managed to hold her tongue, clearly aware of their surroundings. She breathed heavily for a few minutes, clearly trying to regain her composure before she turned her attention back to the phone in her hand, each swipe neutralising her scowl fraction by fraction.

She continued to peruse the album until their food came. She was just about to put the phone down when the smile slipped from her face and she seemed to freeze in her seat. Gendry was about to ask what was wrong when she turned the phone around so that Gendry could see the screen. “Who’s this?” She asked stoically.

Gendry looked at the screen and saw a picture of himself with what looked like his genderbent copy which, by now, Myrcella could only acknowledge to mean one thing.

“That’s…uh…that’s Mya.” He edged, preferring to meet eyes with his steak, twisting his knife and fork in agitation.

“But she…how old is she?” She asked, forehead scrunched in confusion.

“Well, you’re not meant to ask a woman her age, are you?” He asked nonchalantly, not really knowing what to say. Myrcella, however, would not be deterred. “I don’t know. She’s about Five-and-Thirty, I suppose.”

“Five-and-Thirty?!” Myrcella repeated and sounded as shocked as she did when repeating the age of Mhaegen. “But…but that means that my Father must have had her when he was like…Six-and-Ten!”

“Sounds about right.” Gendry nodded, digging into his steak. “She’s got a couple of babes of her own too so… you’re an Aunt.”

“So father’s a Grandfather?” Myrcella just continued to shake her head. “I…I can’t believe it.” Myrcella said when Gendry was halfway through his steak, still not having touched her food.

“Myrcella. You okay?”

She didn’t answer for a moment, just stared off vacantly to the side before seemingly coming back to herself. “Yeah.” She answered though by now the question had been some time ago. “I just…I guess it’s just a surprise. He didn’t…become the way he is from years of marriage to my mother like I always thought, like I always assumed; he’s always been like that. It’s…disappointing.”

“I’m sorry.” Gendry offered quietly around his fork, not knowing best how to comfort her.

She smiled at him at that; a sad smile. “It’s not your fault. And, if Mya is around Five-and-Thirty like you say, that means that he had already started having babes when he got with Lyanna Stark and most assuredly after. All this great romance of theirs bullshit; maybe she just didn’t want to be with such a lecherous pig.” She spat harshly before letting out a rueful sigh.

“Maybe.” Gendry agreed, admittedly thinking the same thing when he had met the half-siblings older than himself, especially after having heard so much of the relationship while he had been with Arya. “From what I gather, Mya’s the eldest and Barra the youngest of us all.”

“You’ve found others then? More half-siblings for us?” The blonde asked curiously, emerald eyes lighting up slightly with interest to counteract their former disappointment.

“Yeah.” Gendry confirmed evenly.

“How many?” She prodded expectantly.

“Including me, Barra, Mya and Edric?” Gendry started, referring to his publicly acknowledged half-brother that had always lived with the Baratheon family at Storm’s End. “Three-and-Ten.”

“Three-and-T-” Myrcella started but stopped herself and closed her eyes, seemingly fed up of repeating numbers that Gendry gave her. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

 _‘Me neither.’_ Gendry thought but wasn’t spiteful enough to say it out loud.

“Have you met them all?” Myrcella asked.

“Yeah. It’s kind of been my…mission statement over the last couple of years, I suppose you could say.”

“Give me a run down then.” Myrcella prodded expectantly.

“Okay.” Gendry nodded, wiping his face and folding his arms, looking up to run through the list in his head before an idea struck him and he grabbed his phone from the table, intending to show a corresponding picture for each sibling he introduced.

Via photographs, Gendry introduced Myrcella to curly haired Bella Rivers of Stoney Sept, a One-and-Thirty party girl and Landlady of a pub called _The Peach_ , Darla Flowers, One-and-Twenty, originally from Red Lake but now studying at Sunspear, Eight-and-Ten year old Nymella Sand of Lemonwood, a bit wild but slowly cooling at Darla’s new calming and stable presence, Beron Pyke, the Five–and-Ten year old, lithe surfer from the Iron Isles, the terrible twosome Bethany and Blane Hill, the mischievious five year old twins from Casterly Rock, Jayde Storm of Haystack Hall, only Three years old and as curious and adventurous a toddler as Gendry had ever come across. To give more gravity to Myrcella’s earlier comment about Robert and Lyanna, Gendry confirmed the existence of two Snow’s, Henly and Emmett, born to two different mothers, two moons apart, Henly at Torrhen’s Square and Emmett at Deepwood Motte, conceived and birthed during Robert’s courtship of Lyanna. Henly, Gendry had only met once, the severe looking man making it clear that he had no father so by extension he did not recognise any connection to anyone related to the Baratheon Patriarch. Henly was an established Maester, several links already forged to his chain and Emmett was a ranger for The Nights Watch.

“He knows Jon.” Gendry smiled over his cake and custard. “He’s called ‘Iron Emmett’ there, apparently. They’re not in the same regiment but they’ve trained together loads. Jon said that he can’t _not_ see the resemblance now.”

“ _Literally_ a child in every kingdom of Westeros! I’m just…I can’t…” Myrcella veered off before she start to laugh heartily; uncontrollable, booming infectious laughter that soon had Gendry joining in, not completely certain of why but unable to stop himself anyway.

*~*~*

Gendry had just hugged his sister goodbye, promising to make a weekly date with her and waving as she drove off when he looked up at the sound of a familiar bark and saw a small figure that could only be Arya letting an excited doggie-duo out of a car that he recognised as Bran’s.

Arya was clearly using the parking at HP’s to gain easy access to the trail behind it, a favourite path of hers. Gendry stared after her for a moment as she was pulled slightly along by the two beasts, debating whether he should call out to her or let her walk away without noticing him. He contemplated for long enough that Arya was nearly out of sight when he slammed his car door shut and started to run down the path after her.

He caught sight of her again but didn’t call out, wanting to leave the option of changing his mind. Arya turned a bend in the path and Gendry glimpsed her letting Nymeria and Lady free of their leads, the two of them darting off through the trees immediately.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, what he should say or even what he could say to her. He had run again when he should have given her the opportunity to explain. It had sounded so clear cut at the time but the fact that neither Margaery or Myrcella had any knowledge of this ‘Husband’ of hers just didn’t ring true.

He turned the bend in the path, still no clearer on what he would say when he saw nothing but undisturbed snow in front of him. He stopped, confused, looking around and not even seeing either of the Stark pets. He continued walking forward, looking around confused when, suddenly, a voice spoke from the shadows to the left. “Crone on a cracker, Waters! Surely following a lone girl into a dark and isolated forrest is considered bad manners, even down in the midlands.” Arya snarked, stepping out from her cover.

Gendry jumped in surprise, meeting her stare long and hard. _‘She always said that that was one of her favourite things about me. That I never balked at her intensity.’_ “More inconsiderate than ‘bad manners’.” He rebuked stoically.

Silence.

Even Arya had begun to look uncomfortable at the drawn out pause where both of them tried valiantly to think of something to say before they were rescued by a fluffy monster. Nymeria charged him, colliding less than softly into his stomach, winding him slightly though it didn’t stop him petting her immediately. Arya took a deep breath before walking back onto the path, casually throwing Gendry Nymeria’s already soggy ball. _‘Lovely…’_

Gendry gave an almighty heave, throwing the ball as far as he could, making Nymeria dart off after it and Lady emerge from the nearby shrubbery to chase it also. “So, it seems that I ran off again.” He started apathetically.

“Don’t blame you.” She replied simply, tightening the string around her hood to protect more of her face from the bitter Northern wind.

“Well, I do. We’re supposed to be grown ups now. Storming off because you said something that I didn’t like…I should be past that behaviour.” He muttered darkly to the ground.

“If you stop that means that I’ll have to.” She laughed bitterly, ruffling Nymeria’s ears gently who had just returned, panting, ball in mouth. “I _do_ understand.” She enthused softly, looking at Nymeria instead of Gendry before she could build up her nerve to lift her gaze. “I’m really sorry. I know I always said I didn’t want to get married so I…appreciate…that it’s not…” Arya struggled for a moment.

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” He offered her a lifeline. “It’s okay, really.” He enthused gently. They smiled at eachother shyly for a moment before making their way forward again. Nymeria wandered to Gendry’s side regularly whilst Lady often came back to Arya for attention inbetween frolicks with her sister in the snow.

“Did you hear about Hot Pie’s?” Gendry asked, taking a stab at conversation. At Arya’s dubious look he laughed at himself. “Of course you did because…because you’re the part owner. That was stupid.” He laughed and she joined him. “I’m gutted he’s not going to be here.” Gendry lamented quietly.

“Yeah, I’m going to miss that chubby fucker.” She smiled fondly. “He’ll do fine up there; he’s done it once so he’ll do it again easily. Lommy will handle things well enough down here until he can come back and I’m still knocking around for him to pester the shit out of; I’ve told him that.”

“Lommy’s never needed your permission before.” Gendry smirked, making Arya laugh loud and free like she used to.

The rest of the walk was tense but enjoyable, both walking on eggshells slightly, not wanting to upset the other but after a five minute cuddle as goodbye between Gendry and Nymeria, they were stood next to Brans car, both reaching for something to say.

“Wasn’t this Bran’s car?” He diverted, hoping to buy himself some more time.

“Yeah, I’ve traded him my bike for the duration of the pregnancy.” She explained, eying up the car disdainfully, the hopeless longing on her face giving away how much she missed the thrill she would always feel when riding her _Needle_. _‘Such a stupid name for a bike.’_ Gendry laughed to himself, not for the first time.

“Well…maybe we could do this again sometime? The walk.” He clarified somewhat mootly. Arya opened her mouth but nothing came out, emotions warring on her face. “Not in a _funny_ way.” He implored, knowing that Arya would know that by ‘funny’ he meant ‘romantic’. “I just…we’ve been broken up now for a long time,” he started, watching her cast her eyes to the floor and debated whether he should press on, “but before we were together we were friends. Good friends; you, me and Hot Pie.” He smiled, the nostalgia not giving him a choice and, he noted, apparently was the same case with Arya who smirked in response.

“I remember.” She announced, voice sounding far away down memory lane.

“Well then, let’s just do that then. Hot Pie’s not here so it doesn’t make sense, the two of us doing without a mate when we’re sitting around looking for something to fill the time with.” He argued logically.

Arya said nothing for a long moment before a challenging smile bloomed on her beautiful face. “Fine then. Friends.” She announced, testing it on her tongue.

“Exactly. I’ll…text you then?” He asked, letting the uncertainty creep into his voice for the first time since starting the speech.

She huffed out a husky laugh, making him question immediately whether he could _just_ be a wholly platonic friend to Arya, before she spoke. “Well, I wasn’t expecting you to fucking call!” She teased, smirking as she opened the door and got behind the wheel. “Later, Stupid!” She bid farwell, nodding to him as she pulled away.

He watched her drive off and stayed rooted to the spot for even longer as his thoughts continued flooded his head faster than he could analyse them. _‘Maybe I am a bit stupid for thinking that I can do this but I just don’t care.’_ He thought to himself finally.

*~*~*

Sansa walked through the threshold of her home, pulling the wolf, knitted hat from her head and shaking the snow from her hair, dropping the bags of shopping to hang up her coat. Arya had taken the dogs out after lunch for a walk and Margaery had opted out of accompanying Sansa to the shopping centre to meet up with Dany and Aly, choosing to work on her new canvas while her inspiration was flowing freely.

Sansa walked through the living room, heading for the stairs, noting that Arya hadn’t returned before heading to her and Margaery’s bedroom to put away her new purchases. Sansa walked into their bedroom, expecting Margaery to be working diligently in her studio but instead found her sat at their vanity, staring seriously into her reflection.

“Hey. What are you still doing in here?” Sansa asked somewhat distractedly, putting the bags down on the bed.

Margaery did not reply. Sansa had neatly laid out her new purchases on the base of their bed and was about to ask again when Margaery finally came out of her trance enough to speak. “I can’t do this anymore, Sansa.” Margaery said quietly, still contemplating her reflection seriously.

Sansa didn’t know what she meant but her heart nearly stopped all the same at her tone. “What do you mean?” She asked, voice choked with trepidation as she turned fully to face her wife, giving her her full attention now.

Margaery spun around on the stool to face Sansa, eyes glassy with tears and Sansa took a bracing breath for whatever her wife was about to say. “I’ve been fighting it since I left Uni and moved North with you but it’s useless.” She shook her head, defeated and Sansa couldn’t breathe while waiting for her to finish. “Look at my hair!” She sobbed desperately, fingers pulling her hair up to reveal the slowly but steadyly greying roots. “I spend a fortune, even by Tyrell standards, dyeing it once a month but it’s just no use. I’m going prematurely grey; have been since I was Five-and-Twenty, just like my Mum.”

Sansa almost felt sick with relief as air filled her lungs again.

“Sweet Stranger, Margaery.” Sansa cursed, letting out a queasy laugh. “I thought it was something serious-”

“It is serious!” Margaery yelled back, amber eyes wide and manic in her beautiful face. Sansa could only stare back in surprise at her reaction. “I’m sorry!” Margaery apologised immediately, burying her head in her hands and taking deep, calming breaths. “It’s just all happening at once. The babes and I’m turning Thirty and now the grey is spreading faster than I can keep up with it.” Tears were now falling softly from Margaery’s lashes onto rosy cheeks. Margaery wiped her hands over her face pitifully. “I’m old, Sweet Girl.” She lamented seriously as Sansa walked towards her.

Sansa climbed onto Margaery’s lap, balancing precariously on the small bench her wife was sat on and squeezing the other woman tightly, running her fingers through her hair and resting her chin on Margaery’s head, smiling now that she could breathe again. “Oh, Bambi! You are still as beautiful as you were when we met.” Margaery huffed at that in disbelief. Sansa pulled away slightly to chastise her for her apparent incredulity. “Hey!” Sansa scolded firmly, cradling her wife’s cheeks gently before kissing her tears away. “I do not lie, Woman! You are my Beautiful Rose today as much you’ve ever been.”

“No…” Margaery dragged out in petulant whine but her face was starting to relax slightly, beginning to look hopeful.

“Yes…” Sansa dragged out in rebuttal, squeezing her wife’s shoulders tightly, kissing her head repeatedly. “Maybe…maybe it’s time you stop dyeing your hair.” Margaery pulled back harshly, looking at Sansa as if she’d just suggested they pack up their lives and go join a commune in Asshai. “I will love you just the same! More, even! It’ll be more _you_. Besides, you will totally rock the salt-and-pepper look, just like your Mum.”

“Oh, have a bit of a _thing_ for my Mum, do you?” Margaery snarked, rubbing the material of Sansa’s blouse between her fingers, soothingly.

Sansa said nothing, just nuzzled her face against the top of Margaery’s head.

“You can feel free to refute that statement at any time.” Margaery offered in bemusement.

“I know.” Sansa replied breezily. Margaery squeezed her bum harshly at that in admonishment, making Sansa jump and giggle. “What? She’s a Silver Fox!” She argued before biting Margaery’s neck, making her squawk out a reluctant laugh and stop crying.

Margaery didn’t actually get around to working on her canvas that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys! That last bit was potentially going to go in the drabble pile but I just liked a bit of lightheartedness to offset the more serious parts of the last couple of chapters so included it here.
> 
> Any feedback, comments, kudos are appreciated and welcomed! ;D
> 
> *WC68*

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: welshcakes68


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